; 


THE      LITTLE      B  U  0  W  K      II  0  U  S 


AUBURN    &   BUFFALO: 


EIGHTEENTH   THOUSAND. 


<frru  l^ 


FEOM 


FANNY'S  PORT-FOLIO 


SECOND     SERIES. 


far  TOT-        /sxa-   i.?.\    MS 


JFretr. 


AUBURN    AXD    BUFFALO: 
MILLER,    ORTON    &    MULLIGAN. 

LONDON: 

SAMPSON  LOW,  SON  &  CO., 
1854. 


''2 


PI 


Published  first  in  England  by  International  Arrangement  with  the  American 
Proprietors,  and  entered  at  Stationers'  HalL 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  In  the  year  one  thousand  eight  hundred 

and  fifty-three, 

BY  MILLER,  OETON  &  MULLIGAN. 
In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  Northern  District  of  New  York. 


AUBURN: 

MILLER,     ORTOX     <t     MULLIGAN 
STEKEOTTPEKS  A^D  PRIXTEBS. 


T  O 

4 

MY    TRUEST    FRIEND, 
OLIVEE    DYER, 

WHOSE    FKIENDSHIP    NEVER    FALTERED,    IN    ADVERSITY  ; 

WHOSE  SYMPATHY  AND  ENCOURAGEMENT  CHEERED  MB, 

WHEN   NO  BOW  OF  PROMISE  WAS  SET  IN  MY  SKY  J 

33oofc  is 


THE    AUTHOR. 


PREFACE. 


To  MY  READERS  : 

Six  months  since,  I  was  in  a  deplorable  state  of 
ignorance  as  to  the  most  felicitous  style  of  Preface ; 
at  this  lapse  of  time,  I  find  myself  not  a  whit  the 
wiser.  You  will  permit  me,  therefore,  in  pressing 
again  your  friendly  hands,  simply  to  say,  that  I  hope 
my  second  offering  of  "  Fern  Leaves  "  will  be  more 
worthy  of  your  acceptance,  than  the  first. 

FANNY  FERN. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE. 

Shadows  and  Sunbeams, 13 

Aunt  Hepsy, 36 

Thoughts  at  Church, 40 

The  Brothers, 42 

Curious  Things, 48 

The  advantages  of  a  Ilouse  in  a  Fashionable  Square, 49 

Winter  is  Coming, 59 

The  Other  Sex, 61 

Soliloquy  of  Mr.  Broadbrim, 63 

Willie  Grey, 65 

Tabitha  Tompkins*  Soliloquy, , 82 

Soliloquy  of  a  Housemaid, 85 

Critics 87 

Forgetful  Husbands, 89 

Summer  Friends, 91 

How  the  Wires  are  Pulled, 92 

Who  would  be  the  Last  Man, 95 

Only  a  Cousin 96 

The  Calm  of  Death, 99 

Mrs.  Adolphus  Smith  sporting  the  Blue  Stocking, 101 


VIII  CONTENTS. 

PAGE. 

Cecile  Tray, 103 

Sam  Smith's  Soliloquy, 105 

Love  and  Duty, 110 

A  False  Proverb 114 

A  Model  Husband, 116 

How  is  it? 118 

A  Morning  Eamble, 120 

Hour-Glass  Thoughts, 123 

Boarding-House  Experiences, 125 

A  Grumble  from  the  (H)  altar, 132 

A  Wicked  Paragraph, 133 

Mistaken  Philanthrophy, 135 

Insignificant  Love, 137 

A  Model  Married  Man, 139 

Meditations  of  Paul  Pry,  jun., 141 

Sunshine  and  Young  Mothers, 144 

Uncle  Ben's  attack  of  Spring  Fever,  and  how  Cured 146 

The  Aged  Minister  Voted  a  Dismission, 150 

The  Fatal  Marriage, 152 

Frances  Sargeant  Osgood, 157 

Best  Things, 161 

The  Vestry  Meeting, 1G4 

A  Broadway  Shop  Reverie, 167 

The  Old  Woman, 170 

Sunday  Morning  at  the  Dibdins, 172 

Items  of  Travel, 175 

Newspaper-dom, 178 

Have  we  any  Men  among  us  ? 181 

How  to  Cure  the  Blues, 183 

Rain  in  the  City, • 185 


CONTENTS.  IX 

PAGB. 

Mrs.  "Weasel's  Husband, 187 

Country  Sunday  vs.  City  Sunday, 189 

Sober  Husbands, 192 

Our  Street, 194 

When  you  are  Angry, 199 

Little  Bessie, 201 

The  Delights  of  Visiting, 205 

Helen  Haven's  Happy  New  Year, 207 

Dollars  and  Dimes, 212 

Our  Xelly 214 

Study  Men,  not  Books, 218 

Murder  of  the  Innocents, 220 

American  Ladies, 224 

The  Stray  Sheep, 226 

The  Fashionable  Preacher, 230 

Cash, 233 

Only  a  Child, 235 

Mrs.  Pipkin's  idea  of  Family  Retrenchment, 237 

A  Chapter  for  Kice  Old  Farmers 239 

Madam  Rouillon's  Mourning  Saloon, 241 

Fashion  in  Funerals, 243 

Household  Tyrants, 245 

Women  and  Money, 247 

The  Sick  Bachelor, 249 

A  Mother's  Influence, 252 

Mr.  Punch  Mistaken, , 257 

Fern  Musings, 259 

The  Time  to  Choose, 261 

Spring  is  Coming, < 262 

Steamboat  Sights  and  Reflections, 265 


X  CONTENTS, 

PAGK. 

A  Gotham  Reverie, 268 

Sickness  in  the  City  and  Country, 269 

Hungry  Husbands, 273 

Light  and  Shadow 275 

A  Matrimonial  Keverie, 278 

What  Love  will  Accomplish, 279 

Mrs.  Grumble's  Soliloquy, 283 

Henry  Ward  Beecher, 285 

An  Old  maid's  Decision, 289 

A  Punch  at  Punch, 291 

Father  Taylor,  the  Sailor's  Preacher, 292 

Signs  of  the  Times, 29G 

Whom  does  it  concern, 300 

Who  Loves  a  Rainy  Day, 306 

A  Conscientious  Young  Man, . . .  .• 310 

City  Scenes  and  City  Life,  K"o.  1, 312 

do                        do         do     2, 317 

do                        do         do     3, 322 

do                        do         do     4, 326 

Two  Pictures 330 

Feminine  Waiters  at  Hotels 332 

Letter  to  the  Empress  Eugenia, 334 

Music  in  the  Natural  Way 337 

For  Ladies  that  go  Shopping, 330 

Modern  Improvements, 344 

The  Old  Merchant  wants  a  Situation, 348 

A  Moving  Tale, 350 

This  Side  and  That, 358 

Mrs.  Zebedee  Smith's  Philosophy, 361 

Opening  of  the  Crystal  Palace, 363 


CONTENTS.  XI 

PAGE. 

A  Lance  Couched  for  the  Children, 369 

A  Chapter  on  Housekeeping, 371 

Barnum's  Museum 373 

A  Fern  Reverie, 377 

Apollo  Hyacinth, 381 

Spoiled  Little  Boy, 884 

A  Brown  Study, 386 

Incidents  at  the  Five  Points  House  of  Industry, 388 

Nancy  Pry's  Soliloquy, 396 

For  Little  Children 397 


PAGE. 
VIGNETTE  TITLE, 

THE  LITTLE  BEOWN  HOUSE,  (FBONTISPIECE.) 

ME.  STUBB8  AND  HIS  FEIENDS, 82 

THE  BLUE  STOCKING, 101 

THE  AGED  MINISTER, 150 

CUE  STREET, 194 

SIMON  SKINFLINT, 800 

THE  MAT-DAY  MOVING, 850 


Colics — jitnmir  Jitthi 


SHADOWS    AND    SUNBEAMS. 

CHAPTER   I. 

I  CA:N  see  it  now :  the  little  brown  house,  with  its  sloping 
roof,  its  clumsy  old  chimneys,  and  its  vine-clad  porch ;  where 
the  brown  bee  hummed  his  drowsy  song,  and  my  silver-haired 
old  father  sat  dozing  the  sultry  summer  noons  away,  with 
shaggy  Bruno  at  his  feet.  The  bright  earth  had  no  blight 
or  mildew  then  for  me.  The  song  of  the  little  birds,  resting 
beneath  the  eaves,  filled  my  heart  with  a  quiet  joy.  It  was 
sweet,  when  toil  was  over,  to  sit  in  the  low  door-way,  and 
watch  the  golden  sun  go  down,  and  see  the  many-tinted  clouds 
fade  softly  away  (like  a  dying  saint)  into  the  light  of  heaven, 
and  evening's  glittering  star  glow,  like  a  seraph's  eye,  above 
them.  'Twas  sweet,  when  Autumn  touched  the  hill-side  foli 
age  with  rainbow  dyes,  to  see  the  gorgeous  leaves  come  circling 
down  on  the  soft  Indian-summer  breeze.  'Twas  sweet,  when 
the  tripping,  silver  stream  lay  still  and  cold  in  Winter's  icy 
clasp,  and  the  flowers  fainted  beneath  his  chilly  breath,  and 
the  leafless  trees  stretched  out  their  imploring  arms,  and  shook 
off,  impatiently,  their  snowy  burthen,  and  the  heavy  wagon- 


14  SHADOWS     AND'    SUNBEAMS. 

wheels  went  creaking  past,  and  the  ruddy  farmer  struck  his 
brawny  arms  across  his  ample  chest,  for  warmth,  and  goaded 
the  lazy,  round-eyed  oxen  up  the  icy  hill.  Even  then,  it  was 
sunshine  still,  in  the  little  brown  house  :  in  the  ample  chimney 
glowed  and  crackled  the  blazing  faggots ;  rows  of  shining  pans 
glittered  upon  the  shelves ;  the  fragrant  loaf  steamed  in  the  lit 
tle  oven ;  the  friendly  tea-kettle,  smoking,  sang  in  the  chimney 
corner,  and  by  its  side  still  sat  the  dear  old  father,  with  the 
faithful  newspaper,  that  weekly  brought  us  news  from,  the  busy 
world,  from  wliich  our  giant  forest-trees  had  shut  us  out. 

Ah  !  those  were  happy  days :  few  wants  and  no  cares  : 
the  patriarch's  head  was  white  with  grave  blossoms,  yet  his 
heart  was  fresh  and  green.  Alas !  that,  under  the  lowliest  door 
way,  as  through  the  loftiest  portal,  the  Guest  unbidden  cometh. 
The  morning  sun  rose  fair,  but  it  shone  upon  silver  locks  that 
stirred  with  no  breath  of  life,  upon  loving  lips  forever  mute, 
upon  a  palsied,  kindly  hand  that  gave  no  returning  pressure. 
Soon,  over  the  heart  so  warm  and  true,  the  snow  lay  white  and 
cold ;  the  winter  wind  sang  its  mournful  requiem,  and  from  out 
the  little  brown  house,  the  orphan  passed  with  tearful  gaze  and 
lingering  footstep. 


CHAPTER    II. 


On,  the  bitter,  bitter  bread  of  dependence !     No  welcome  by 
the  hearth-stone  :  no  welcome  at  the  board :  the  mocking  tone, 


SHADOWS     AND     SUNBEAMS.  15 

the  cutting  taunt,  the  grudged  morsel.     Weary  days,  and  sleep 
less,  memory-torturing  nights. 

"  Well,  Josiah's  dead  and  gone,"  said  my  uncle,  taking  down 
his  spectacles  from  the  mantel,  to  survey  me,  as  I  sank  on  the 
settle,  in  the  chimney  corner.  "  Take  off  your  bonnet,  Hetty. 
I  suppose  we  must  give  you  house-room.  Josiah  never  had 
the  knack  of  saving  anything  —  more's  the  pity  for  you.  That 
form  of  his  was  awfully  mismanaged.  I  could  have  had  twice 
the  produce  he  did  off  that  land.  Sheer  nonsense,  that  shallow 
ploughing  of  his,  tiring  the  land  all  out ;  he  should  have  used 
the  sub-soil  plough.  Then  he  had  no  idea  of  the  proper 
rotation  of  crops,  or  how  to  house  his  cattle  in  winter,  or  to 
keep  his  tools  where  they  wouldn't  rust  and  rot.  That  new 
barn,  too,  was  a  useless  extravagance.  He  might  have  roofed 
the  old  one.  It's  astonishing  what  a  difference  there  is  in  broth 
ers,  about  getting  beforehand  in  the  world.  Now  I've  a  cool 
thousand  in  the  bank,  all  for  taking  care  of  little  things.  (There, 
Jonathan  !  Jonathan  !  you've  taken  the  meal  out  of  the  wrong 
barrel :  it  was  the  damaged  meal  I  told  you  to  carry  to  Widow 
Folger.) 

"  Well,  as  I  was  saying,  Hetty,  in  the  first  place,  your  father 
didn't  know  how  to  manage ;  then  he  didn't  know  how  to  say 
No.  He'd  lend  money  to  anybody  who  wanted  it,  and  pay  his 
workmen  just  what  they  took  it  into  their  heads  it  was  right  to 
ask.  Now,  there's  Jonathan,  yonder;  a  day  or  two  since,  he 
struck  for  higher  wages.  Well,  I  let  him  strike,  and  got  an 
Irishman  in  his  place.  This  morning  he  came  whining  back, 
saying  that  his  wife  was  sick,  and  his  youngest  child  lay  dead 


1C  SHADOWS     AND     SUNBEAMS. 

in  the  house,  and  that  he  was  willing  to  work  on  at  the  old 
wages.  That's  the  way  to  do,  Hetty.  If  Jonathan  chose  to 
saddle  himself  with  a  wife  and  babies,  before  he  was  able  to 
feed  them,  I  don't  see  the  justice  of  my  paying  for  it.  But  it's 
time  for  family  prayers :  that  will  be  something  new  to  you,  I 
suppose.  I  don't  want  to  judge  any  body  :  I  hope  your  father 
has  gone  to  Heaven,  but  I'm  afraid  he  did  n't  let  his  light  shine. 
Don't  whimper,  child ;  as  the  tree  falls  so  it  must  lie.  You 
must  see  that  you  do  your  duty  :  make  yourself  useful  here  in 
my  house,  and  try  to  pay  your  way.  Young  people  of  your 
age  consume  a  great  deal  in  the  way  of  food  and  clothes." 

Oh,  the  monotony  of  those  weary  days  !  how  memory  lin 
gered  over  the  sunny  past :  how  thought  shrank  back  affrighted 
from  the  gloomy  future :  how  untiringly  and  thanklessly  I 
strove  to  cancel  the  debt  for  daily  bread,  and  how  despairingly 
I  prayed  for  relief  from  such  bitter  thraldom.  - 


CHAPTER    III 

"  Make  up  the  bed  in  the  north  room,  Hetty,"  said  my  aunt; 
"  it's  our  turn  to  board  the  schoolmaster  this  week.  You 
needn't  put  on  the  best  sheets  :  these  book-learning  folks  are 
always  wool-gatherinsr.  He  never '11  know  the  difference.  What 

•/DO 

a  hungry  set  these  schoolmasters  are,  to  be  sure :  it  keeps  a 
body  all  the  tune  cooking.     A  bushel  of  doughnuts  is  a  mere 


SHADOWS      AND      SUNBEAMS.  17 

circumstance.  When  the  last  master  was  here,  our  winter 
barrel  of  cider  went  off  like  snow  in  April.  I  hope  Jonathan 
learned  enough  at  school  to  pay  for  it,  but  I  have  my  doubts  : 
he  trips  in  the  multiplication  table  yet.  Your  uncle  and  I 
think  that  this  boarding  schoolmasters  is  a  poor  business  —  a 
losing  bargain.  He  says  I  must  put  less  on  the  table,  but  it  is 
no  use  to  try  that  game  with  George  Grey.  He's  as  indepen 
dent  as  Adam  in  Eden,  before  the  serpent  and  his  wife  got  in. 
He'd  just  as  lief  call  for  anything  he  wanted  as  not,  and  some 
how  or  other,  when  he  does,  I  always  feel  as  if  I  had  no  choice 
about  bringing  it.  That  eye  of  his  always  makes  me  think  of 
forked  lightning;  and  yet  he's  kindly  spoken,  too.  He  is  as 
much  of  a  riddle  to  unravel,  as  one  of  Parson  Jones'  doctrinal 
sermons.  But,  go  make  his  bed,  Hetty,  and  mind  you  stuff  a 
few  rags  in  that  broken  pane  of  glass  over  it.  I  spoke  to  your 
uncle  about  getting  it  mended,  but  he  said  warm  weather  would 
be  along  in  three  months,  and  that's  very  true,  Hetty.  Hist ! 
your  uncle  is  calling  you.  He  says  he  is  going  out  in  the  barn 
to  thresh,  and  if  Peter  Tay  comes  up  the  road,  and  stops  in 
here  again,  for  him  to  subscribe  towards  the  minister's  new 
cloak,  you  must  say  that  he  has  gone  to  Jifftown,  and  will  not 
be  home  for  a  week  at  least.  Now  don't  forget,  Hetty  :  peo 
ple  seem  to  think  one  earns  money  now-a-days  on  purpose  to 
give  away.  A  new  cloak !  humph !  I  wonder  if  the  Apostle 
Paul's  hearers  ever  gave  him  a  new  cloak  ?  I  wonder  if  John 
the  Baptist  ever  had  a  donation  party  ?  Don't  the  minister 
have  his  salary,  two  hundred  dollars  a  year — part  in  produce, 
part  in  money  ;  paid  regularly,  when  the  times  ain't  too  hard "? 
2b 


18  SHADOWS     AND     SUNBEAMS. 

Go  make  the  school-master's  bed  now,  Hetty.  One  pillow  will 
do  for  him.  Goodness  knows  he  carries  his  head  high  enough 
when  he  is  awake.  I  should  n't  wonder  if  he  had  been  captain 
or  colonel,  or  something,  some  muster  day." 

The  schoolmaster  !  Should  I  be  permitted  to  go  to  school  ? 
or  should  I  be  kept  drudging  at  home  1  Would  this  Mr.  Grey 
think  me  very  ignorant  ?  I  began  to  feel  as  if  his  forked-light 
ning  eyes  were  already  on  me.  My  cheeks  grew  hot  at  the 
idea  of  making  a  blunder  in  his  awful  presence.  What  a  mis 
erable  room  my  aunt  had  provided  for  him !  If  I  could  but 
put  up  some  nice  white  curtains  at  the  window,  or  get  him  a 
cushioned  chair,  or  put  in  a  bureau,  or  chest  of  drawers.  It 
looked  so  comfortless — so  different  from  the  welcome  my  dear 
old  father  was  wont  to  give  to  "the  stranger  within  the  gates;" 
and  now  memory  pictured  him,  as  he  sat  in  the  old  arm  chair, 
and  I  knelt  again  at  the  low  foot-stool  at  his  feet,  and  his  hand 
strayed  caressingly  over  my  temples,  and  I  listened  to  old  con 
tinental  stories,  till  the  candle  burned  low  in  the  socket,  and 
only  the  foe-light  flickered  dimly  on  the  old  portrait  of  General 
Washington,  and  on  my  father's  time-worn  face. 

My  aunt's  shrill  voice  soon  roused  me  from  my  reverie. 
Dinner  time  had  come,  and  with  it  Mr.  Grey — a  gentlemanly 
young  man,  of  about  two  and  twenty,  with  a  bright,  keen,  blue 
eye,  and  a  frank,  decided,  off-hand  manner,  that  seemed  to  me 
admirably  in  keeping  with  his  erect,  imposing  figure  and  firm 
step.  Even  my  uncle  reefed  in  a  sail  or  two  in  his  presence, 
and  my  aunt  involuntarily  qualified  her  usual  bluntness  of  man 
ner.  I  uttered  a  heartfelt  thanksgiving  when  dinner  was  over 


SHADOWS      AND      SUNBEAMS.  19 

CHAPTER    IV. 

"  HETTY,"  said  my  uncle,  as  the  door  closed  upon  Mr.  Grey. 
"  I  suppose  you  must  go  to  school,  or  the  neighbors  will  say 
we  don't  treat  you  well.  You  ought  to  be  very  thankful  for 
such  a  home  as  this,  Hetty ;  women  are  poor  miserable  crea 
tures,  left  without  money.  I  wish  it  had  pleased  Providence 
to  have  made  you  a  boy.  You  might  then  have  done  Jonathan's 
work  just  as  well  as  not,  and  saved  me  his  wages  and  board. 
There's  a  piece  of  stone  wall  waiting  to  be  laid,  and  the  barn 
wants  shingling.  Josiah  now  would  be  at  the  extravagance  o' 
hiring  a  mason  and  a  carpenter  to  do- it. 

"Crying1?  I  wonder  what's  the  matter  now?  Well,  it's 
beyond  me  to  keep  track  of  anything  in  the  shape  of  a  woman. 
One  moment  they  are  up  in  the  attic  of  ecstasy ;  the  next,  down 
in  the  cellar  of  despondency,  as  the  Almanac  says ;  and  it  is 
as  true  as  if  it  had  been  written  in  the  Apocrypha.  I  only  said 
that  it  is  a  thousand  pities  that  you  were  not  a  boy  ;  then  you 
could  graft  my  trees  for  me,  and  hoe,  and  dig,  and  plant,  and 
plough,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing.  This  puttering  round,  wash 
ing  dishes  a  little,  and  mopping  floors  a  little,  and  wringing  out 
a  few  clothes,  don't  amount  to  much  toward  supporting  your 
self.  Let  me  see,  you  have  had,  since  you  came  here  "  —  and 
my  uncle  put  on  his  spectacles,  and  pulled  out  a  well-thumbed 
pocket  memorandum  —  "You've  had  t-w-o  p-a-i-r-s  of  shoes,  at 
t-h-r-e-e  s-h-i-1-l-i-n-g-s  a  pair,  and  nine  yards  of  calico,  for  a 
dress,  at  s-i-x  c-e-n-t-s  a  yard.  That  'mounts  up,  Hetty,  'mounts 
up.  You  see  it  costs  something  to  keep  you.  I  earned  my 


20  SHADOWS      AND      SUNBEAMS. 

money,  and  if  you  ever  expect  to  have  any,  you  must  earn 
yours  "  —  and  my  uncle  took  out  his  snuffbox,  helped  himself 
to  a  pinch,  and,  with  the  timely  aid  of-  a  stray  sunbeam,  achieved 
a  succession  of  very  satisfactory  sneezes. 

The  following  day,  under  the  overwhelming  consciousness  of 
my  feminity  and  consequent  good-for-nothingness,  I  made  rny 
debut  at  Master  Grey's  school. 

It  was  a  huge  bam  of  a  room,  ill  lighted,  ill  warmed,  and 
worse  ventilated,  crowded  with  pupils  of  both  sexes,  from  the 
little,  chubby  ABC  D-arian,  to  the  gaunt  Jonathan  of  thirty, 
who  had  begun  to  feel  the  need  of  a  little  ciphering  and  geogra 
phy,  in  making  out  his  accounts,  or  superscribing  a  business  letter. 
There  were  rows  of  awkward,  mop-headed,  freckled,  red-fisted 
boys;  and  rosy-cheeked,  buxom  lasses,  bursting  out  of  their 
dresses,  half-shy,  half-saucy,  who  were  much  more  conversant 
with  "  apple  bees,"  and  "  husking  frolics,"  than  with  grammar 
or  philosophy.  There  was  the  parson's  son,  and  the  squire's 
and  the  blacksmith's  son,  besides  a  few  who  hadn't  the  re 
motest  idea  whose  sons  they  were,  having  originally  been  in 
dentured  to  their  farming  masters,  by  the  overseers  of  the 
county  alms-house. 

Amid  these  discordant  elements,  Master  Grey  moved  as  se 
renely  as  the  August  moon  of  a  cloudless  night ;  now  patting 
some  little  curly  head,  cruelly  perplexed  by  "  crooked  S  ;"  now 
demonstrating  to  some  slow,  older  brain,  a  stumbling  block  in 
Euclid ;  now  closing  the  creaking  door  after  an  ill-mannered 
urchin  ;  now  overlooking  the  pot-hooks  and  trammels  of  an  un 
sophisticated  scribe,  who  clutched  the  pen  as  if  it  were  a  hoe- 


SHADOWS     AND     SUNBEAMS.  21 

handle  ;  now  feeding  the  great,  clraflless  Behemoth  of  a  stove 
with  green  hickory  knots,  and  vainly  attempting  to  thaw  out 
his  own  congealed  fingers. 

In  a  remote  comer  of  the  school-room  sat  Zeb  Smith,  the 
village  blacksmith's  son,  who  came  into  the  world  with  his  fists 
doubled  up,  and  had  been  pugilist-ing  ever  since.  It  was  Zeb's 
proud  boast  that  "  he  had  whippped  every  schoolmaster  who 
had  ever  appeared  in  Frog-town,"  and  in  his  peaceful  retreat 
from  under  his  bent  brows,  he  was  now  mentally  taking  the 
measure  of  Master  Grey,  ending  his  little  reverie  with  a  loud, 
protracted  whistle. 

Master  Grey  turned  quickly  round,  and  facing  his  overgrown 
pupil  of  thirty,  said  in  a  voice  clear  as  the  click  of  a  pistol, 
"  You  will  be  pleased  not  to  repeat  that  annoyance,  Mr.  Smith." 
Zeb  bent  his  gooseberry  eyes  full  upon  the  master,  and  gave 
him  a  blast  of  "  Yankee  Doodle." 

All  eyes  were  bent  on  Master  Grey.  The  guantlet  of  defi 
ance  was  thrown  in  his  very  teeth.  Zeb  had  a  frame  like  an 
ox,  and  a  fist  like  a  sledge-hammer,  and  he  knew  it.  Master 
Grey  was  slight,  but  panther-y  ;  to  their  unscientific  eyes,  he 
was  already  victimized. 

Not  a  bit  of  it !  See  !  Master  Grey's  delicate  white  fingers 
are  on  Zeb's  check  shirt-collar ;  there  is  a  momentary  struggle  : 
lips  grow  white  ;  teeth  are  set ;  limbs  twist,  and  writhe,  and 
mingle,  and  now  Zeb  lies  on  the  floor  with  Master  Grey's  hand 
some  foot  on  his  brawny  chest.  Ah,  Master  Grey  !  science  is 
sometimes  a  match  for  bone  and  muscle.  Your  boxing  master, 
Monsieur  Punchmellow,  would  have  been  proud  of  his  pupil. 


22  SHADOWS     AND     SUNBEAMS. 

Peace  restored,  Master  Grey  shakes  back  from  his  broad 
forehead  his  curly  locks,  and  summons  the  first  class  in  geog 
raphy.  A  row  of  country  girls,  round  as  little  barrels  and  red 
as  peonies,  stand  before  him,  their  respect  and  admiration  for 
"  the  master  "  having  been  increased  ten  per  cent,  by  his  vic 
tory  over  Zeb.  Feminity  pardons  any  thing  in  a  man  sooner 
than  lack  of  courage.  The  recitation  goes  off  very  well,  with 
the  exception  of  Miss  Betsey  Jones,  who  persists  in  not  reciting 
at  all.  Master  Grey  looks  at  her  :  he  has  conquered  a  man, 
but  that's  no  reason  why  he  should  suppose  he  can  conquer  a 
woman.  He  sees  that  written  in  very  legible  characters  in 
Miss  Bessie's  saucy  black  eye.  Miss  Bessy  is  sent  to  her  seat, 
and  warned  to  stay  after  school,  till  her  lesson  is  learned  and 
recited  perfectly.  With  admirable  nonchalance,  she  takes  her 
own  time  to  obey,  and  commences  drawing  little  caricatures  of 
the  master,  which  she  places  in  her  shoe,  and  passes  round  un 
der  the  desk,  to  her  more  demure  petticoat  neighbors. 

School  is  dismissed  :  the  last  little  straggler  is  kicking  up  his 
heels  in  the  snow  drifts,  and  Master  Grey  and  Miss  Bessie  are 
left  alone.  Master  Grey  inquires  if  the  lesson  is  learned,  and 
is  told  again  by  Miss  Bessie,  with  a  toss  of  her  ringlets,  that 
she  has  no  intention  of  learning  it.  Master  Grey  again  re 
minds  her  that  the  lesson  must  be  recited  before  she  can  go 
home.  Bessie  looks  mischievously  at  the  setting  sun,  and  plays 
with  the  master's  commands  and  her  apron  strings.  An  hour 
passes,  and  Bessie  has  not  opened  the  book.  Master  Grey  con 
sults  his  watch,  and  reminds  her  "  that  it  is  growing  dark." 
Bessie  smiles  till  the  dimples  play  hide  and  seek  on  her  cheek, 


SHADOWS     AND     SUNBEAMS.  23 

but  she  says  nothing.  Another'  hour :  Master  Grey  bites  his 
lip,  and,  replacing  his  watch  in  his  pocket,  says,  "  I  see  your 
intention,  Miss  Betsey.  It  is  quite  impossible,  as  you  know, 
for  us  to  remain  here  after  dark.  To-morrow  morning,  if  your 
lesson  is  not  learned,  I  shall  punish  you  in  the  presence  of  the 
whole  school.  You  can  go." 

"  Thank  you,  sir,"  says  Bessie,  with  mock  humility,  as  she 
crushed  her  straw  hat  down  over  her  bright  ringlets. 

"  Mischief  take  these  women,"  Master  Grey  was  heard  to 
utter,  as  he  went  through  the  snow  by  starlight  to  a  cold  sup 
per.  "  Shall  I  conquer  Zeb,  to  strike  my  colors  to  a  girl  of 
sixteen  1 " 

There  was  plenty  to  talk  about  over  the  brown  bread  and 
milk,  at  the  farmers'  tea-tables  that  night ;  the  youngsters  all 
made  up  their  minds  that  if  there  was  "  a  time  to  play,"  it  was 
not  in  Master  Grey's  school-room,  and  the  old  farmers  said  they 
were  glad  the  District  had  a  schoolmaster  at  last  that  was  good 
for  something,  and  that  they  should  think  better  of  city  chaps 
in  future  for  his  sake.  Even  Zeb  himself  acknowledged,  over 
his  father's  forge,  as  he  mended  his  broken  suspenders,  that 
Master  Grey  was  a  "  trump." 

The  nine  o'clock  bell  summoned  again  the  Frog-town  pupils 
to  the  District  School.  Master  Grey  in  vain  looked  in  Bessie's 
face  for  any  sign  of  submission.  She  had  evidently  made  up 
her  mind  to  brave  him.  After  the  usual  preliminary  exercises, 
she  was  called  up  to  recite.  Fixing  her  saucy  blacjc  eyes  upon 
him,  she  said,  "  I  told  you  I  would  not  learn  that  lesson,  and 
I  have  not  leavned  it."  "And  I  told  you"  said  Master  Grey,  (a 


24  SHADOWS     AND     SUNBEAMS. 

slight  flush  passing  over  his  forehead)  that  I  should  punish  you 
if  you  did  not  learn  it  ?  Did  I  not  ? "  Bessie's  red  lip  quiv 
ered,  but  she  deigned  him  no  reply. 

"  You  will  hold  out  your  hand,  Betsey,"  said  Mr.  Grey,  ta 
king  up  a  large  ferule  that  lay  beside  him.  The  color  left 
Bessie's  check,  but  the  little  hand  was  extended  with  martyr-like 
determination,  and  amid  a  silence  that  might  be  felt,  the  ferule 
came  down  upon  it,  with  justice  as  unflinching  as  if  it  were  not 
owned  by  a  woman.  Betsey  was  not  proof  against  this  humil 
iation  ;  she  burst  into  tears,  and  the  answering  tear  in  Master 
Grey's  eye  showed  how  difficult  and  repugnant  had  been  the 
task. 

From  that  day,  Master  Grey  was  "  monarch  of  all  he  sur 
veyed,"  and,  truth  compels  me  to  own,  by  none  better  loved 
or  more  implicitly  obeyed,  than  by  Miss  Bessie. 

Master  Grey's  "  boarding  week  "  at  my  uncle's  had  now  ex 
pired.  What  a  change  had  it  effected  in  me !  Life  was  no 
longer  aimless  :  the  old,  glad  sparkle  had  come  back  to  my 
heavy  eye  ;  I  no  longer  dreaded  the  solitude  of  my  own  thoughts. 
The  dull  rain  dropping  on  my  chamber  roof  had  its  music  for 
my  ears ;  the  stars  wore  a  new  and  a  glittering  brightness, 
and  Winter,  with  his  snowy  mantle,  frosty  breath,  and 
icicle  diadem,  seemed  lovelier  to  me  than  violet-slippered 
Spring,  with  roses  in  her  hair.  I  still  saw  Master  Grey  each 
day  at  school.  How  patiently  he  bore  with  my  multiplied 
deficiencies,  and  with  what  a  delicate  and  womanly  appreciation 
of  my  extreme  sensitiveness,  he  soothed  my  wounded  pride. 


SHADOWS     AND     SUNBEAMS.  25 

No  pale-eyed  flower  fainting  beneath  the  garish  noonday  heat 
ever  so  thirsted  for  the  cool  dews  of  twilight,  as  did  my  deso 
late  heart  for  his  soothing  tones  and  kindly  words. 


CHAPTER   V. 

"  BETSEY,"  said  my  uncle,  "  we  shall  want  you  at  home  now. 
It  will  be  impossible  for  me  to  get  along  without  you,  unless  I 
hire  a  hand,  and  times  are  too  hard  for  that :  so  you  must  leave 
school.  You  Ve  a  good  home  here,  for  which  you  ought  to  be 
thankful,  as  I've  told  you  before ;  but  you  must  work,  girl, 
vrork !  Some  how  or  other  the  money  goes ;  "  (and  he  pulled 
out  the  old  pocket-bock;)  "here's  my  grocer's  bill  —  two  shil 
lings  for  tea,  and  three  shillings  for  sugar ;  can't  you  do  with 
out  sugar,  Hetty  1  And  here's  a  dollar  charged  for  a  pair  of 
India  rubbers.  A  dollar  is  a  great  deal  of  money,  Hetty ;  more 
than  you  could  earn  in  a  month.  And  here 's  a  shilling  for  a 
comb  ;  now  that 's  useless ,  you  might  cut  your  hair  off!  It 
won't  do  —  won't  do.  I  had  no  idea  of  the  additional  expense 
when  I  took  you  in.  Josiah  ought  to  have  left  you  something 
no  man  has  a  right  to  leave  his  children  for  other  people  to  sup 
port  ;  't  isn't  Christian.  I  've  been  a  professor  these  twenty 
years,  and  I  ought  to  know.  I  don't  know  as  you  have  any 
legal  claim  on  me  because  you  are  my  niece.  Josiah  was 
thriftless  and  extravagant.  I  suppose  't  is  in  your  blood,  too, 

for  I  can't  find  out  that  you  have  begun  to  pay  your  way  by 

B 


26  SHADOWS     AND     SUNBEAMS. 

any  chores  you  have  done  here.  If  you  must  live  on  us,  (and 
I  can't  say  that  I  see  the  necessity,)  I  repeat,  I  wish  you  had 
been  born  a  boy." 

"  But  as  I  am  not  a  boy,  Uncle,  and  as  I  do  not  wish  to  be  a 
burthen  to  you,  will  you  tell  me  how  to  support  myself?  " 

"Don't  ask  me.  I'm  sure  I  don't  know.  That  is  your 
business.  I  have  my  hands  full  to  attend  to  my  own  affairs. 
I  am  deacon  of  the  church,  beside  being  trustee  of  the  Sand 
wich  Island  Fund.  I  don't  get  a  copper  for  the  office  of  deacon ; 
nobody  pays  me  for  handing  round  the  contribution  box  ;  not  a 
cent  of  the  money  that  passes  through  my  hands  goes  into  my 
till ;  not  a  mill  do  I  have  by  way  of  perquisite,  for  doling  it 
out  to  bed-ridden  Widow  Hall,  or  asthmatic  Mr.  Price.  Not 
a  penny  the  richer  was  I,  for  that  twenty  dollars  I  collected  in 
the  contribution  box  at  last  communion  :  no,  I  am  a  poor  man, 
comparatively  speaking.  I  may  die  yet  in  the  almshouse ;  who 
knows  1  You  must  work,  girl,  work ;  can't  have  any  drones 
in  my  hive." 

A  shadow  just  then  passed  the  window.  I  should  know 
that  retreating  footstep !  Could  it  be  that  Master  Grey  had 
come  to  the  door  with  the  intention  of  calling,  and  overheard 
my  uncle  1  At  least,  then,  I  was  spared  the  humiliation  of  ex 
posing  his  parsimony. 


SHADOWS     AND     SUNBEAMS.  27 

CHAPTER    VI. 

IT  was  the  night  for  the  weekly  vestry  lecture.  I  was  left 
quite  alone  in  the  old  kitchen.  My  uncle  had  extinguished  the 
lamp  in  leaving,  saying  that  it  was  "  a  waste  to  burn  out  oil  for 
me."  The  fire,  also,  had  been  carefully  taken  apart,  and  the 
brands  laid  at  an  incombustible  distance  from  each  other.  The 
old  clock  kept  up  a  sepulchral,  death-watch  tick,  and  I  could 
hear  the  falling  snow  drifting  gloomily  against  the  windows. 

I  drew  the  old,  wooden  settle  closer  between  the  tall  and 
irons,  and  sat  sorrowfully  gazing  into  the  dying  embers.  What 
was  to  become  of  me  ?  for  it  seemed  impossible  to  bear  lon 
ger  the  intolerable  galling  of  my  yoke.  Even  the  charity  of 
strangers  seemed  to  me  preferable  to  the  grudging,  insulting 
tolerance  of  my  kindred.  But,  with  my  sixteen  years'  experi 
ence  of  quiet  valley-life,  where  should  I  turn  my  untried  foot 
steps  1  To  Him  who  guideth  the  little  bird  through  the  path 
less  air,  would  I  look. 

Weeping,  I  prayed. 

"  My  poor  child,"  said  a  voice  at  my  side ;  and  Master  Grey 
removed  my  hands  gently  from  my  tear-stained  face,  and  held 
them  in  his  own.  "  My  poor  Hetty,  life  looks  very  dark  to 
you,  does  it  not  ?  I  know  all  you  suffer.  Don 't  pain  your 
self  to  tell  me  about  it ;  I  overheard  your  uncle's  crushing 
words.  I  know  there  are  none  to  love  you  —  none  to  care  for 
you  —  none  on  whom  you  can  lean.  It  is  a  bitter  feeling,  my 
poor  child.  I,  too,  have  passed  through  it  You  would  go 


28  SHADOWS     AND     SUNBEAMS. 

from  hence,  but  where  1  Life  is  full  of  snares,  and  you  are  too 
young,  and  too  inexperienced  to  brave  them. 

"  Hetty,"  and  Master  Grey  drew  me  gently  toward  him, — 
"  Hetty,  could  you  be  happy  with  me  1 " 

Is  the  ship-wrecked  mariner  happy,  who  opens  his  despair 
ing  eyes  at  length  in  the  long  looked  for,  long  prayed  for, 
home? 

Is  the  little  bird  happy,  who  folds  her  weary  wings  safe  from 
the  pursuer's  talons,  in  her  own  fleece-lined  nest  ? 

Is  the  little  child  happy,  who  wakes,  sobbing,  in  the  gloomy 
night,  from  troubled  dreams,  to  find  his  golden  head  still  safely 
pillowed  on  the  dear,  maternal  bosom  ? 


CHAPTER   VII. 

IT  was  very  odd  and  strange  to  me,  my  new  home  in  the 
great,  busy  city ;  with  its  huge  rows  of  stores  and  houses,  its 
myriad  restless  feet,  and  anxious,  care-worn  faces  ;  its  glittering 
wealth,  its  squalid  poverty  ;  the  slow  moving  hearse,  and  the 
laughing  harlequin  crowd ;  its  noisy  Sabbaths,  and  its  gor 
geous  churches,  with  its  jeweled  worshippers,  and  its  sleepy 
priests ;  its  little  children,  worldly-wise  and  old,  and  its  never- 
ceasing,  busy  hum,  late  into  the  day's  pale  light.  I  had  no  ac 
quaintances  :  I  needed  none ;  for  I  moved  about  my  pretty 
little  home  as  in  a  glad  dream.  My  husband  was  still  "  Mas- 


SHADOWS     AND     SUNBEAMS.  29 

ter  Grey,"  but  over  a  private  school  of  his  own,  bounded  by  no 
"  District,"  subject  to  the  despotic  dictation  of  no  "  Commit 
tee."  In  his  necessary  absence,  I  busied  myself  in  arranging 
and  re-arranging  his  books,  papers  and  wardrobe,  thinking  the 
while  such  g  lad  thoughts !  And  when  the  little  mantel  clock 
chimed  the  hour  of  return,  my  cheek  flushed,  my  heart  beat 
quick,  and  my  eyes  grew  moist  with  happy  tears,  at  the  sound 
of  the  dear,  loved  footstep. 

How  very  nice  it  seemed  to  sit  at  the  head  of  that  cheerful 
little  table  —  to  make,  with  my  own  hands,  the  fragrant  cup  of 
tea  —  to  grow  merry  with  my  husband,  over  crest-fallen  Zeb, 
and  poor,  stubborn  little  Bessie,  and  my  uncle's  time-worn  bug 
bear  of  a  memorandum  book ! 

And  how  proud  I  was  of  him,  as  he  sat  there  correcting  some 
school-boy's  Greek  exercise,  while  I  leaned  over  his  shoulder, 
looking  attentively  at  his  fine  face,  and  at  those  unintelligible 
hieroglyphics,  and  blushing  that  he  was  so  much  wiser  than  his 
little  Hetty. 

This  thought  sometimes  troubled  me.  I  asked  myself,  will 
my  husband  never  weary  of  me  1  I  even  grew  jealous  of  his 
favorite  authors,  of  whom  he  was  so  fond.  Then  I  pondered 
the  feasibility  of  pursuing  a  course  of  reading  unknown  to  him, 
and  astonishing  him  some  day  with  my  profound  erudition.  In 
pursuance  of  my  plan,  I  would  sit  demurely  down  to  some 
great,  wise  book ;  but  I  saw  only  my  husband's  face  looking 
out  at  me  from  every  page,  and  my  self-inflicted  task  was  sure 
to  end  in  some  blissful  dreamy  reverie,  with  which  Cupid  had 
much  more  to  do  than  Minerva. 


30  SHADOWS     AND     SUN  BEAMS 

CHAPTER    VIII. 

"  A -proposition,  Hetty  ! "  said  my  husband,  throwing  aside 
his  coat  and  hat,  and  tossing  a  letter  in  my  lap.  "  It  is  from 
a  widow  lady,  who  desires  that  I  should  take  charge  of  her 
little  boy,  and  give  him  a  home  in  my  family,  while  she  goes 
to  the  continent,  to  secure  some  property  lately  left  her  by  a 
foreign  relative.  It  will  be  advantageous  to  us,  in  a  pecuniary 
way,  to  have  him  board  with  us,  unless  it  should  increase  your 
cares  too  much.  But,  as  you  are  so  fond  of  children,  it  may, 
perhaps,  after  all,  prove  a  pleasant  care  to  you.  She  is  evi 
dently  a  superior  woman.  Every  line  in  her  letter  shows  it." 

My  husband  immediately  answered  in  the  affirmative,  and 
the  child  arrived  a  week  after.  He  was  a  fine,  intelligent,  gen 
tlemanly  boy  of  eight  years,  with  large  hazel  eyes,  and  trans 
parently  beautiful  temples :  disinclined  to  the  usual  sports  of 
childhood,  sensitive,  shy,  and  thoughtful  beyond  his  years  —  a 
human  dew-drop,  which  we  look  to  see  exhale.  He  brought 
with  him  a  letter  from  his  mother,  which  powerfully  affected 
my  husband.  During  its  perusal  he  drew  his  hand  repeatedly 
across  his  eyes,  and  sat  a  long  while  after  he  had  finished  read 
ing  it,  with  his  eyes  closed,  in  a  deep  reverie.  By-and-by  he 
said,  handing  me  the  letter,  "  there  is  genius  there,  Hetty.  1 
never  read  anything  so  touchingly  beautiful.  Mrs.  West  must 
be  a  very  talented  and  superior  woman." 

I  glanced  over  the  letter.  It  fully  justified  my  husband's  en 
comiums.  It  was  a  most  touching  appeal  to  him  to  watch  with 
paternal  care  over  her  only  child ;  but  while  she  spoke  with  a 


SHADOWS     AND     SUNBEAMS.  31 

mother's  tenderness  of  his  endearing  qualities,  she  wished  him 
taught  implicitly,  that  first  of  all  duties  for  the  young,  obedience. 
Then  followed  allusions  to  dark  days  of  sorrow,  during  which 
the  love  of  that  cherished  child,  was  the  only  star  in  her  sky. 

I  folded  the  letter  and  sat  very  still,  after  my  husband  left, 
in  my  little  rocking-chair,  thinking.  Such  a  gifted  woman  as 
that  my  husband  should  have  married.  One  who  could  have 
sympathised  with  him  and  shared  his  intellectual  pursuits  ;  who 
would  have  been  something  besides  a  toy  to  amuse  an  idle 
hour,  or  to  minister  to  his  physical  necessities.  Perhaps  it  was 
of  this  that  my  husband  was  thinking,  as  he  sat  there  with  his 
eyes  closed  over  the  open  letter.  Perhaps  he  had  wed  me 
only  from  a  generous  impulse  of  pity,  and  that  letter  had  sud 
denly  revealed  to  him  the  happiness  of  which  he  was  capable 
with  a  kindred  spirit.  I  was  very  miserable.  I  wished  the 
letter  had  never  reached  us,  or  that  I  had  declined  the  care  of 
the  child.  Other  letters,  of  course,  would  come,  and  the  boy 
would  keep  alive  the  interest  in  the  intervals.  I  wept  long  and 
bitterly.  At  length  I  was  aroused  by  the  entrance  of  little 
Charley.  A  bright  flush  mounted  to  his  forehead,  when  he 
saw  my  swollen  eyes.  He  hesitated  a  moment,  then  gliding 
up  to  my  side  he  said,  sweetly,  "  Are  you  sick  ?  Shall  I  bathe 
your  head  1  I  used  to  bathe  mamma's  head  when  it  pained 
her." 

I  stood  abashed  and  rebuked  in  the  child's  angel  presence, 
and  taking  the  boy,  her  boy,  in  my  arms,  I  kissed  him  as 
tenderly  as  if  I  had  been  his  mother ;  while  in  his  own 
sweet  way  he  told  me  with  childish  confidence  of  his  own 


32  SHADOWS    AN  D     SUNBEAM  3. 

dead  papa ;  how  much  he  loved  mamma ;  how  many,  many 
beautiful  things  he  used  to  bring  her,  saying  that  they  were  not 
half  good,  or  half  handsome  enough  for  her ;  how  distressed 
he  used  to  be  if  she  were  ill ;  how  carefully  he  closed  the  shut 
ters,  and  tip-toed  about  the  house,  with  his  finger  on  his  lip, 
telling  the  servants  to  close  the  doors  gently ;  and  how  he  prom 
ised  him  little  toys,  if  he  would  not  disturb  mamma's  slum 
bers  ;  and  then,  how  like  diamonds  his  eyes  shone,  when  she 
got  well ;  and  what  beautiful  flowers  he  brought  her  for  her 
vases ;  and  what  a  nice,  soft-cushioned  carriage  he  brought  for 
her  to  take  the  air ;  and  how  tenderly  he  wrapped  the  shawls 
about  her,  and  how  many  charges  he  gave  the  coachman,  to 
drive  slowly  and  carefully.  And  then,  how  dear  papa,  at  last, 
grew  sick  himself;  and  how  mamma  watched  day  and  night 
beside  his  bed,  forgetting  to  sleep,  or  eat,  or  drink ;  and  how 
nobody  dared  to  tell  her  that  the  doctor  said  he  must  die  ;  and 
how  papa  grew  fainter  and  weaker,  and  how  he  said,  "  Kiss  me, 
Mary,  and  lay  your  cheek  to  mine ;  I  can 't  see  you."  And 
then,  how  mamma  fainted  and  was  carried  out,  and  for  many, 
many  long  days  did  n't  know  even  her  own  little  Charley ;  — 
and  how  dreadful  it  was  when  she  first  waked,  and  tried  to  re 
member  what  had  happened;  and  how  nobody  could  com 
fort  her  but  Charley ;  and  how  he  used  often  to  wake  up 
in  the  night,  and  find  her  with  a  lamp  looking  at  him.  be 
cause  when  he  was  asleep  he  looked  so  much  like  dear,  dead 
papa ;  and  how  bitterly  she  would  sob  when  she  was  sick,  be 
cause  papa  was  not  there  to  pity  her,  and  bathe  her  aching 
head ;  and  how  he  (Charley)  meant,  when  he  grew  up  to  be  a 


SHADOWS     AND     SUNBEAMS.  #3 

man,  to  get  a  nice  house  for  her,  and  put  everything  she  want 
ed  in  it,  and  make  her  just  as  happy  as  he  could. 

Well  has  the  Saviour  said,  "  Of  such  is  the  kingdom  of 
Heaven."  That  night  I  bent  over  little  Charley's  bed,  blessing 
the  little  sleeper  for  his  angel  teachings,  with  a  heart  as  calm 
and  peaceful  as  the  mirrored  lake,  reflecting  only  the  smile  of 
Heaven. 

Time  passed  on.  Life  became  earnest ;  for  a  little  heart  pul 
sated  beneath  my  own,  and  a  strange,  sweet,  nameless  thrill 
sent  to  my  chastened  lips  a  trembling  prayer.  Tiny  caps  and 
robes,  with  many  a  hope  and  fear  interwoven  in  their  delicate 
threads,  lay  awaiting  the  infant's  advent.  I,  myself  should 
know  the  height,  and  breadth,  and  depth  of  a  mother's  undy 
ing  love.  What  could  come  between  me  and  this  new  found 
treasure  ? 

Meantime  letters  continued  to  come  from  Charley's  mother 
to  her  boy,  and  my  husband.  It  was  impossible  for  me  to 
blind  myself  to  his  growing  interest  in  them.  On  the  days 
they  were  expected,  (for  she  wrote  at  regular  intervals,)  he 
would  be  absent  and  abstracted,  or  if  any  delay  occurred,  al 
most  irritable.  When  they  were  received,  his  eye  kindled,  his 
step  became  elastic,  and  his  whole  face  grew  radiant  with  hap 
piness. 

As  the  time  drew  near  for  the  birth  of  my  infant,  I  grew  timid 
with  sad  forebodings.  I  was  sitting,  one  evening  at  twilight, 
watching  the  setting  sun,  and  thinking  of  the  quiet  grave  it  was 
gilding,  where  my  silver-haired  father  slept,  in  the  old  church 
vard,  when  my  husband  entered.  An  expression  of  pain  flitted 
3b 


34  SHADOAVS     AND     SU.NUEAM8. 

over  his  features,  as  he  looked  at  me,  and  taking  my  hand,  he 
said,  gently,  almost  tenderly,  "  You  are  less  well  than  usual, 
Hetty ;  you  must  not  sit  here,  moping,  by  yourself." 

I  laid  my  head  upon  his  shoulder  with  a  happiness  I  had  not 
known  for  many  months.  "  Listen  to  me,  dear  Grey,"  said  1 ; 
"I  have  a  confidence  to  repose  in  you  that  will  ease  my  heart. 

"  It  was  pity,  only,  that  drew  your  heart  to  mine  ;  you  do  not 
love  me.  I  have  known  it  a  long  while  since.  At  first,  the 
discovery  gave  me  a  pang  keener  than  death ;  but  I  have  had 
a  long  and  bitter  struggle  with  myself,  and  have  conquered. 
It  is  not  your  fault  that  you  cannot  love  me.  To  the  many 
voices  of  your  heart,  which  cry,  '  Give,  give,'  my  response  is 
weak  and  unsatisfying.  Your  wife  should  be  gifted.  She 
should  sympathise  with  you  in  your  intellectual  pursuits.  She 
should  stimulate  your  pride,  as  well  as  your  love.  Such  an 
one  is  Charley's  mother.  Your  heart  has  already  wed  her,  and 
as  God  is  my  witness,  I  have  ceased  to  blame  you.  We  can 
not  help  our  affections.  I  cannot  help  loving  you,  though  I 
know  her  mysterious  power  over  your  heart.  I  have  seen  your 
struggles,  your  generous  self-reproaches,  in  some  sudden  out 
burst  of  kindness  toward  me,  after  the  indulgence  of  some 
bright  dream,  in  which  I  had  no  share.  Dear  Grey,  she  is 
worthy  of  your  love.  She  has  a  heart,  noble,  good  and  true  ; 
a  heart  purified  by  suffering.  I  see  it  in  every  line  she  writes. 
Should  I  not  survive  the  birth  of  my  infant,  I  could  give  your 
happiness  into  her  keeping  without  a  misgiving,  though  I  have 
never  looked  upon  her  face." 


SHADOWS     AND     SUNBEAMS.  35 

Little  Hetty's  noble  heart  has  long  since  ceased  to  throb  with 
joy  or  pain.  To  her  husband's  breast  is  folded  the  babe,  for 
whose  little  life  her  own  was  yielded  up.  Threads  of  silver 
prematurely  mingle  amid  his  ebon  locks ;  for  memory  writes 
only  on  bereaved  hearts  the  virtues  of  the  dead,  while,  with  tor 
turing  minuteness,  she  pictures  our  own  short-comings,  for  which, 
alas !  we  can  offer  no  atonement  but  our  tears. 


AUNT  HEPSY. 

IT  was  a  comical  little  old  shop,  "Aunt  Hepsy's,"  with  Its  Lil 
liputian  counter,  shelves  and  stove,  and  its  pigmy  assortment 
of  old-fashioned  ginghams,  twilled  cambrics,  red  flannels,  facto 
ry  cotton  and  homespun  calicoes ;  its  miniature  window,  with 
its  stock  of  horn-combs  and  candy,  tin  horses  and  peppermint 
drops,  skeins  of  yam  and  Godfrey's  Cordial,  gaudy  picture 
boo'ks,  and  six-penny  handkerchiefs,  from  whose  center  Lafay 
ette  and  George  Washington  smiled  approbatively  upon  the 
big  A's  and  little  A's  printed  round  the  border. 

"Aunt  Hepsy ;  "  so  every  brimless-hatted  urchin  in  the  neigh 
borhood  called  her,  though  it  would  have  puzzled  them  worse 
than  the  multiplication  table,  had  you  asked  them  why  they 
did  so.  Year  in  and  year  out,  her  ruddy  English  face  glowed 
behind  the  little  shop  window.  Sometimes  she  would  be  knit- 
ting  a  pair  of  baby's  socks,  sometimes  inventing  most  aston 
ishing  looking  bags  out  of  rainbow  fragments  of  silk  or  ribbon. 
Sometimes  netting  watch-guards,  or  raveling  the  yarn  from  some 
old  black  stocking,  to  ornament  the  "  place  where  ths  wool 
ought  to  grow,"  on  the  head  of  some  Topsy  doll  she  was  ma 
king.  Sometimes  comforting  herself  with  a  sly  pinch  of  snuff, 


AUNT     HEP  ST.  37 

or,  when  sunbeams  and  customers  were  scarce,  nodding  drow 
sily  over  the  daily  papers. 

Aunt  Hepsy  had  been  a  beauty,  and  her  pretty  face  had  won 
her  a  thriftless  husband,  of  whom  champagne  and  cigars  had 
long  since  kindly  relieved  her.  And  though  Time  had  since 
forced  her  to  apply  to  the  perruquier,  he  had  gallantly  made 
atonement  by  leaving  her  in  the  undisputed  possession  of  a 
pair  of  very  brilliant  black  eyes.  Add  to  this  a  certain  air  of 
coquetry,  in  the  fanciful  twist  of  her  gay -colored  turban,  and 
the  disposal  of  the  folds  of  her  lace  kerchief  over  her  ample 
English  bust  —  and  you  have  a  faithful  daguerreotype  of  "  Aunt 
Hepsy." 

From  the  window  of  her  little  shop  she  could  look  out  upon 
the  blue  waters  of  the  bay,  where  lay  moored  the  gallant 
ships,  from  whose  tall  masts  floated  the  stars  and  stripes,  and 
whose  jolly  captains  might  often  be  seen  in  Aunt  Hepsy's  shop, 
exchanging  compliments  and  snuff,  and  their  heavy  voices 
heard,  recounting  long  Neptune  yarns,  and  declaring  to  the  bux 
om  widow  that  nothing  but  the  little  accident  of  their  being 
already  spliced  for  life,  prevented  their  immediately  spreading 
sail  with  her  for  the  port  of  Matrimony.  Aunt  Hepsy  usually 
frowned  at  this,  and  shook  her  turbaned  head  menacingly,  but 
immediately  neutralized  it,  by  offering  to  mend  a  rip  in  their 
gloves,  or  replace  a  truant  button  on  their  overcoats. 

It  was  very  odd,  how  universally  popular  was  Aunt  Hepsy. 
She  had  any  number  of  places  to  "  take  tea,"  beside  a  standing 
invitation  from  half-a-dozen  families,  to  Christmas  and  Thanks 
giving  dinners,  and  to  New-Year's  suppers.  She  had  an  eligible 


38  AUNTHEPSY. 

seat  in  church,  gratis ;  an  inexhaustible  bottle  of  sherry  for 
her  often  infirmities  ;  fresh  pies  on  family  baking  days,  news 
papers  for  stormy  day  reading  ;  tickets  to  menageries,  and  in 
vitations  to  picnics. 

She  always  procured  lodgings  at  a  cheaper  rate  than  anybody 
else ;  had  the  pleasantest  room  in  the  house  at  that,  the  warmest 
seat  at  table,  the  strongest  cup  of  coffee,  the  brownest  slice  of 
toast,  the  latest  arrival  of  buckwheats,  the  second  joint  of  the 
turkey,  and  the  only  surviving  piece  of  pie.  To  be  sure,  she 
always  praised  ugly  babies,  asked  old  maids  why  they  would 
be  so  cruel  as  to  persist  in  remaining  unmarried,  entreated 
hen-pecked  husbands  to  use  their  powerful  influence  over  their 
wives  to  secure  to  her  their  custom  ;  begged  the  newly  fledged 
clergyman  to  allow  her  a  private  perusal  of  his  last  Sunday's 
able  discourse ;  complimented  ambitious  Esaus  on  the  luxuriant 
growth  of  their  very  incipient,  and  microscopically  perceptible 
whiskers;  asked  dilapidated,  rejected  widowers,  when  they  in 
tended  taking  their  choice  of  a  wife  out  of  a  bevy  of  rosy  girls, 
and  declared  to  Editors  that  she  might  as  well  try  to  get  along 
without  her  looking  glass,  as  without  their  interesting  news 
papers. 

One  day,  the  little  shop  was  shut  up.  Nine  o'clock  came — 
eleven  o'clock,  and  the  shutters  were  still  closed,  and  Aunt  Hep 
sy  so  punctual,  too !  What  could  it  mean  ?  Old  Mrs.  Brown 
was  ready  to  have  fits  because  she  could  n't  get  another  skein 
of  yarn  to  finish  her  old  man's  stockings.  Little  Pat  Dolan 
had  roared  himself  black  in  the  face,  because  he  could  n't  spend 
his  cent  to  buy  some  maple  sugar;  and  the  little  match 


A  U  NT      H  E  P  S  Y  .  39 

girl  stood  shivering  at  the  corner  for  a  place  to  warm  her  poor 
benumbed  fingers,  while  the  disappointed  captains  stamped 
their  feet  on  the  snow,  stuffed  their  cheeks  with  quids,  and  said  it 
was  "  deuced  funny,"  and  an  old  maid,  opposite,  who  had  long 
prayed  that  Aunt  Hepsy's  reign  might  be  shortened,  laid  her 
skinny  forefinger  on  her  hooked  nose,  and  rolled  up  the  whites 
of  her  eyes  like  a  chicken  with  the  pip. 

It  was  no  great  enigma,  (at  any  rate  not  after  you  found  it 
out !)  Rich  old  Mr.  Potts  ventured  into  Aunt  Hepsy's  shop, 
one  day,  to  buy  a  watch-ribbon.  He  was  very  deaf;  so  Aunt 
Hepsy  had  to  come  round  the  counter  to  wait  upon  him,  and 
the  upshot  of  it  was,  that  she  and  Cupid  together,  hailed  him 
through  an  ear-trumpet ;  and  all  I  know  about  it  is,  that  they 
have  now  a  legalized  right  to  a  mutual  pillow  and  snuff-box, 
and  that  the  little  shop  window  still  remains  unopened,  while 
the  old  maid  hisses  between  her  teeth,  as  Aunt  Hepsy  rolls  by 
in  her  carriage,  "  How  do  you  suppose  she  did  it1?" 


THOUGHTS    AT    CHURCH. 

I  HAVE  an  old-fashioned  way  of  entering  church,  before  the 
bells  begin  to  chime.  I  enjoy  the  quiet,  brooding  stillness.  I 
love  to  think  of  the  many  words  of  holy  cheer  that  have  fallen 
there,  from  heaven-missioned  lips,  and  folded  themselves  like 
snow-white  wings  over  the  weary  heart  of  despair.  I  love  to  think 
of  the  sinless  little  ones,  whose  pearly  temples  have  here  been 
laved  at  the  baptismal  font.  I  love  to  think  of  the  weak,  yet 
strong  ones,  who  have  tearfully  tasted  the  consecrated  cup,  on 
which  is  written,  "  Do  this  in  remembrance  of  me."  I  love  to 
think  of  those  self-forgetting,  self-exiled,  who,  counting  all  things 
naught  for  Gethsemane's  dear  sake,  are  treading  foreign  shores, 
to  say  to  the  soul-fettered  Pagan,  "  Behold  the  Lamb  of  God."  I 
love  to  think  of  the  loving  hearts  that  at  yonder  altar  have 
throbbed,  side  by  side,  while  the  holy  man  of  God  pronounced 
"  the  twain  one."  I  love  to  think  of  the  seraph  smile  of  which 
death  itself  was  powerless  to  rob  the  dead  saint,  over  whose 
upturned  face,  to  which  the  sunlight  lent  such  mocking  glow, 
the  words,  "  Dust  to  dust,"  fell  upon  the  pained  ear  of  love. 
I  love,  as  I  sit  here,  to  list  through  the  half  open  vestry  door, 
to  the  hymning  voices  of  happy  Sabbath  scholars,  sweet  as  the 
timid  chirp  of  morn's  first  peeping  bird.  I  love  to  hear  their 


THOUGHTS    AT    CHURCH.  41 

tiny  feet,  as  they  patter  down  the  aisle,  and  mark  the  earnest 
gaze  of  questioning  childhood.  I  love  to  see  the  toil-hardened 
hand  of  labor  "brush  off  the  penitential  tear.  I  love  —  "  our 
minister."  How  very  sad  he  looks  to-day.  Are  his  parish 
unsympathetic1?  Does  the  laborer's  "hire"  come  tardily  and 
grudgingly  to  the  overtasked,  faithful  servant  1  Do  censorious, 
dissatisfied  spirits  watch  and  wait  for  his  halting  ? 

Now  he  rises  and  says,  slowly  —  musically,  "  The  Lord  is 
my  shepherd,  I  shall  not  want."  Why  at  such  sweet,  soul- 
resting  words,  do  his  tears  overflow  ?  Why  has  his  voice 
such  a  heart  quiver  1  Ah !  there  is  a  vacant  seat  in  the  pas 
tor's  pew.  A  little  golden  head,  that  last  Sabbath  gladdened 
our  eyes  like  a  gleam  of  sunlight,  lies  dreamlessly  pillowed  be 
neath  the  coffin  lid :  gleeful  eyes  have  lost  their  brightness : 
cherry  lips  are  wan  and  mute,  and  beneath  her  sable  vail  the 
lonely  mother  sobs.  And  so  the  father's  lip  quivers,  and  for  a 
moment  nature  triumphs.  Then  athwart  the  gloomy  cloud 
flashes  the  bow  of  promise.  He  wipes  away  the  blinding  tears, 
and  with  an  angel  smile,  and  upward  glance,  he  says,  "  Though 
he  slay  me,  yet  will  I  trust  in  Him" 


THE    BROTHERS. 

CLOSE  the  door.  One  would  scarcely  think,  in  this  luxurious 
atmosphere,  that  we  had  left  mid-winter  behind  us.  The 
warm  air  is  heavy  with  the  odor  of  blossoming  greenhouse 
plants,  over  whose  fragrant  clusters  a  tiny  fountain  tosses  its 
sparkling  spray :  bright- winged,  sweet-voiced  canaries  dart,  like 
flashes  of  sunlight,  through  the  dark  green  foliage :  beautiful 
are  those  sculptured  infants,  cheek  to  cheek,  over  whose  dim 
pled  limbs  the  crimson  drapery  throws  such  a  rosy  glow :  beau 
tiful  is  that  shrinking  Venus,  with  her  pure,  chaste  brow,  and 
Eve-like  grace :  lovely  those  rare  old  pictures,  to  the  artistic 
eye :  beautiful  that  recumbent  statuette  of  the  peerless,  proud 
"Pauline." 

Hush !  tread  softly ;  on  yonder  couch  a  gentleman  lies 
sleeping.  His  crimson  velvet  cap  has  fallen  back  from  his 
broad  white  forehead ;  his  long  curving  lashes  droop  heavily 
upon  his  cheek,  and  his  Grecian  profile  is  as  faultless  as  a  sculp 
tor's  dream.  Pity,  that  the  stain  of  sensuality  should  have  left 
so  legible  an  impress  there. 

A  servant  enters,  bearing  a  note  upon  a  silver  tray.  His 
master  languidly  opens  a  pair  of  large  dark  eyes,  and  beckons 
him  to  approach.  As  he  breaks  the  seal,  a  contemptuous  sneer 


THE     BROTHERS.  43 

disfigures  his  handsome  lip,  and  an  angry  flush  mounts  to  his 
brow.  Motioning  the  servant  away,  he  crushes  the  note  be 
tween  his  fingers,  muttering, — "No — no — as  he  has  made  his 
bed,  so  let  him  lie  in  it."  Then  walking  once  or  twice  rapidly 
across  the  room,  he  takes  up  a  small  volume,  and  throws  himself 
again  upon  the  velvet  couch.  He  does  not  turn  the  leaves,  and 
if  you  peep  over  his  shoulder,  you  will  see  that  the  book  is  upside 
down.  His  thoughts  are  far  away.  He  remembers  a  bright- 
eyed,  open-browed,  guileless-heai'ted  brother,  whom  early  or 
phanage  had  thrown  upon  his  fraternal  care ;  whose  trusting 
nature  he  had  perverted  ;  whose  listening  ear  he  had  poisoned 
with  specious  sophistries  and  worldly  maxims ;  whom  he  had 
introduced  to  the  wine  party,  where  female  virtue  was  held  in 
derision,  and  to  the  "green  room,"  where  the  foreign  danseuse 
understood  well  how  to  play  her  part ;  whom  he  had  initiated 
into  modern  follies  and  dissipations,  and  then  launched  upon 
the  Chary bd  is  of  fashionable  society,  without  chart,  or  rudder, 
or  compass,  other  than  his  own  headstrong  passions  and  unbri 
dled  will. 

Soon  came  a  rumor,  at  first  vague  and  undefined,  and  then 
voraciously  seized  upon  and  circulated  by  Paul  Pry  penny-a- 
liners,  (who  recked  little,  in  their  avidity  for  a  paragraph,  of 
broken-hearted  mothers  or  despairing  gray-haired  fathers,)  of 
a  true  heart  that  had  been  betrayed,  of  a  disgraced  household, 
of  a  fair  brow  that  must  henceforth  walk  the  earth  shame- 
branded.  Then  from  his  avenging  pursuers  the  rash  boy  fled 
for  refuge  to  him  who  had  first  turned  his  youthful  footsteps 
aside  from  truth  and  honor.  He  was  repulsed  with  scorn  •  not 


44  THE     BROTHERS. 

because  he  had  wronged  his  own  soul  and  hers  whose  star  had 
forever  set  in  night,  but  because  he  had  not  more  skilfully  and 
secretly  woven  the  meshes  for  his  victim. 

Across  the  seas,  amid  the  reckless  debauchery  of  God-for 
getting  Paris,  the  miserable  boy  sought  oblivion;  welcoming 
with  desperate  eagerness  the  syren  Pleasure,  in  every  chame 
leon  shape  that  could  stifle  conscience  or  drown  torturing  mem 
ory.  Sometimes  by  a  lucky  throw  of  the  dice  he  was  enabled 
to  shine  as  the  Adonis  of  some  ball,  or  theatre,  or  gay  saloon  : 
sometimes  destitute  as  the  humblest  chiffonier,  who  suns 
himself  in  the  public  square,  and  solicits  charity  of  the  in 
different  passer-by.  In  the  rosy  glow  of  morning,  the  bright 
stars  paled  while  Harry  sat  at  the  enticing  gaming  table,  till 
even  those  accustomed  to  breathe  the  polluted  atmosphere  of 
those  gates  of  perdition,  turned  shuddering  away,  from  the 
fiendish  look  of  that  youthful  face. 

Nature  revenged  herself  at  last.  Wearisome  days  of  sick 
ness  came,  and  he  who  was  nurtured  in  luxury,  was  dependent 
upon  the  charity  of  grudging  strangers. 

Oh!  what  a  broad,  clear  beam  eternity  throws  upon  the 
crooked  by-paths  of  sin !  how  like  swift  visions  pass  the  long 
forgotten  prayer  at  the  blessed  mother's  knee;  the  long-forgot 
ten  words  of  Holy  Writ ;  the  soothing  vesper  hymn,  of  holy 
time  ;  the  first  cautious,  retrograding  step — the  gradual  searing 
of  conscience,  till  the  barrier  between  right  and  wrong  is  ruth 
lessly  trampled  under  foot;  the  broken  resolutions,  the  mis 
spent  years,  the  wasted  energies ;  the  sins  against  one's  own 
soul,  the  sins  against  others ;  the  powerless  wish  to  pray,  'mid 


THE     BROTHERS.  45 

paroxysms  of  bodily  pain  ;  the  clinging  hold  on  life  —  the  anx 
ious  glance  at  the  physician  —  the  thrilling  question,  "  Doctor, 
is  it  life  or  death  1 " 

Poor  Harry!  amid  the  incoherent  ravings  of  delirium, 
the  good  little  grisette  learned  his  sad  history.  Her  little 
French  heart  was  touched  with  pity.  Through  her  representa 
tions,  on  his  partial  restoration  to  health,  a  sufficient  sum  was 
subscribed  by  the  American  consul,  and  some  of  his  generous 
countrymen,  to  give  him  the  last  chance  for  his  life,  by  sending 
him  to  breathe  again  his  native  air.  Earnestly  he  prayed  that 
the  sea  might  not  be  his  sepulchre. 

Tearfully  he  welcomed  the  first  sight  of  his  native  shore. 
Tremblingly  he  penned  those  few  lines  to  the  brother  whose 
face  he  so  yearned  to  see  —  and  on  whose  fraternal  breast  it 
would  seem  almost  easy  to  die.  Anxiously  he  waited  the  re 
sult,  turning  restlessly  from  side  to  side,  till  beaded  drops  of 
agony  started  from  his  pallid  temples.  Walter  would  not  re 
fuse  his  last  request.  No  —  no.  The  proud  man  would  at 
least,  at  the  grave's  threshold,  forget  that  "  vulgar  rumor  "  had 
coupled  his  patrician  name  with  disgrace.  Oh,  why  had  the 
messenger  such  leaden  footsteps  1  when  life  and  strength  like 
hour-glass  sands,  were  fleeting !  A  step  is  heard  upon  the 
stairs  !  A  faint  flush,  like  the  rosy  tinting  of  a  sea-shell,  bright 
ens  the  pallid  face. 

"  No  answer,  sir,"  gruffly  says  the  messenger. 

A  smothered  groan  of  anguish,  and  Harry  turns  his  face  to 
the  wall,  and  tears,  such  only  as  despair  can  shed,  bedew  his 
pillow. 


46  THE     BROTHER  8. 

"  Do  go,  dear  Walter ;  'tis  your  own  brother  who  asks  it. 
If  he  has  sinned,  has  he  not  also  suffered  ?  We  all  so  err,  so 
need  forgiveness.  Oh,  take  back  those  hasty  words ;  let  him 
die  on  your  breast,  for  my  sake,  Walter,"  said  the  sweet  plead 
er,  as  her  tears  fell  over  the  hand  she  pressed. 

"  That 's  my  own  husband,"  said  the  happy  Mary,  as  she 
saw  him  relent.  "  Go  now,  dear  Walter.  Take  away  the  sting 
of  those  cruel  words,  while  yet  you  may,  and  carry  him  these 
sweet  flowers,  he  used  to  love,  from  me.  Quick,  dear  Walter." 


"  This  way,  sir,  this  way.  Up  another  flight,"  said  the  guide, 
gazing  admiringly  at  the  fine  figure  before  him,  enveloped  in 
a  velvet  Spanish  cloak.  "  Second  door  to  the  left,  sir.  May 
be  the  gentleman's  asleep  now  ;  he  's  been  very  quiet  for  some 
time.  Seen  trouble,  sir,  I  reckon.  Tis  not  age  that  has  drawn 
those  lines  on  his  handsome  face.  He 's  not  long  for  this  world, 
God  rest  his  soul.  That 's  right,  sir ;  that 's  the  door.  Good 
day,  sir." 

Walter  stood  with  his  finger  on  the  latch.  He  had  at  all 
times  a  nervous  shrinking  from  sickness  —  a  fastidious  horroi 
of  what  he  termed  "  disagreeables."  He  half  repented  that  he 
had  suffered  a  woman's  tears  to  unsettle  his  purpose.  Perhaps 
Harry  would  reproach  him.  (His  own  conscience  was  prompt 
er  to  that  thought.)  There  he  stood,  irresolutely  twirling  Ma 
ry's  lovely  flowers  in  his  nervous  grasp. 

If  Harry  should  reproach  him  ! 

Slowly  he  opened  the  door.     The  flowers  fell  from  his  hand ! 


THEBROTHERS.  47 

Was  that  attenuated,  stiffened  form  his  own,  warm-hearted, 
brighkeyed,  gallant  young  brother  ? 

"Keproach1?" 

Oh,  Walter,  there  is  no  "  reproach  "  like  that  passionless  up 
turned  face ;  no  words  so  crushing  as  the  silence  of  those 
breathless  lips ;  no  misery  like  the  thought  that  those  we  have 
injured  are  forever  blind  to  our  gushing  tears,  and  deaf  to  our 
sobs  of  repentance. 


CURIOUS   THINGS. 

CuwotJs:  The  exaggerated  anxiety  of  wives  to  see  the  women  who  were  former ,7 
loved  by  their  husbands. — Exchange. 

WELL,  yes  —  rather  curious ;  there  are  a  great  many  curi 
ous  things  in  this  world.  Curious,  your  husband  always  per 
ceives  that  you  are  "sitting  in  a  draft,"  whenever  one  of  your 
old  lovers  approaches  you  in  a  concert  room ;  curious  he  in 
sists  upon  knowing  who  gave  you  that  pretty  gold  ring  on  your 
little  finger ;  curious  that  you  can  never  open  a  package  of 
old  letters,  without  having  his  married  eyes  peeping  over  your 
shoulder  ;  curious  he  never  allows  you  to  ride  on  horseback, 
though  everybody  says  you  have  just  the  figure  for  it ;  curious 
he  always  sends  his  partner  on  all  the  little  business  trips  of  the 
firm ;  curious  such  an  ugly  frown  comes  over  his  face  when 
he  sees  certain  cabalistic  marks  in  a  masculine  hand,  in  the 
margin  of  your  favorite  poet ;  curious  that  he  will  not  let  you 
name  your  youngest  boy  Harry,  unless  you  tell  him  your  con 
fidential  reasons ;  curious  he  is  always  most  gracious  to  the 
most  uninteresting  men  who  visit  the  house ;  and  very  curious, 
and  decidedly  disagreeable,  that  whenever  you  ask  him  for 
money,  he  is  so  busy  reading  the  newspaper  that  he  can't  hear 
you. 


THE  ADVANTAGES  OF  A  HOUSE  IN   A 
FASHIONABLE    SQUARE. 

"  WHOM  did  you  say  wished  to  see  me,  Bridget  1 " 

The  broad-faced  Irish  girl  handed  her  mistress  a  card. 

'"  Mrs.  John  Hunter !'  was  there  ever  anything  so  unfortu 
nate  1  had  she  called  on  any  other  day  in  the  week,  I  should 
have  been  prepared  to  receive  her,  but  of  a  '  washing  day,' 
when  nothing  but  a  calico  wrapper  stands  Master  George's 
clawings  and  climbings ;  when  the  nursery  maid  is  in  the  kitch 
en,  and  the  baby  on  my  hands  for  the  day  ;  when  my  '  Honiton 
collar '  is  in  soak,  the  parlor  window  curtains  in  the  wash-tub, 
and  the  dimensions  of  the  whole  family,  big  and  little,  are  flap 
ping  on  the  clothes-line,  displaying  their  rents  and  patches  in 
full  view  of  the  parlor  windows !  Was  there  ever  anything  so 
unfortunate?  What  could  induce  Mrs.  John  Hunter  to  call  on 
a  washing  day  ?" 

But  what  was  "  washing  day  "  to  Mrs.  John  Hunter,  who 
lived  in  St.  John's  Square,  kept  four  servants,  and  patronized  a 
laundry  1  What  did  she  know  of  Mondays'  picked  up  dinners 
and  littered  parlors,  cluttered  china  closet,  and  untidied  nurse 
ries  1  Mrs.  John  Hunter,  who  came  down  to  breakfast  every 
4b  C 


50  A   HOUSE   IN   8  T.JOHN'S   8  QUA  BE. 

morning  in  a  fawn-colored  silk  morning  dress,  trimmed  with 
cherry,  over  an  elaborately  embroidered  white  skirt ;  in  a 
cobweb  lace  cap,  silk  stockings,  and  the  daintiest  of  Parisian 
toilette  slippers ;  how  could  she  see  the  necessity  of  going  down 
cellar,  after  breakfast,  to  see  if  the  pork  was  under  brine,  the 
pickle  jar  covered,  and  the  preserves  unfermented?  What 
did  she  know  about  washing  up  breakfaslxmps,  polishing  the 
silver  sugar  bowl,  filling  the  astral  lamp,  counting  up  -the  silver 
forks  and  spoons,  or  mending  that  little  threadbare  place  in  the 
carpet,  that  would  soon  widen  into  an  ugly  rent,  if  neglected  ? 
What  did  she  know  about  washing  children's  faces  for  school, 
or  finding  their  missing  mittens,  or  seeing  that  Webster's  spel 
ling  book  and  a  big  apple  were  safely  stowed  away  in  their 
satchels  1  How  did  she  (whose  family  broadcloth  the  tailor 
mended)  know  that  Monday  was  always  the  day  when  hus 
bands  threw  their  coats  into  wives'  lap  "  for  just  one  stitch," 
(which  translated,  means  new  sleeve-linings,  new  facings  for  the 
flaps,  a  new  set  of  buttons  down  the  front,  and  a  general  resus 
citation  of  dilapidated  button-holes.)  How  did  she  know  that 
the  baby  always  got  up  a  fit  of  colic  on  washing  days,  and 
made  it  a  point  to  dispense  with  its  usual  forenoon  nap? — that 
all  the  collectors  for  benevolent  societies,  and  bores  in  general, 
preferred  it  to  any  other  day  in  the  calendar  ?  —  that  school 
teachers  always  selected  it  to  ferule  children  for  sneezing  with 
out  permission  —  that  milkmen  never  could  spare  you,  on  that 
day,  your  usual  share  of  milk  by  two  quarts  —  that  the  coal, 
potatoes,  starch,  soap,  molasses,  and  vinegar  always  gave  out 
on  Monday  —  that  "  the  minister "  always  selected  it  for  his 


A   HOUSE    IN    ST.  JOHN'S   SQUARE.  51 

annual  call,  and  country  cousins  for  a  "  protracted  meeting  1 " 
How  should  the  patrician,  Mrs.  John  Hunter,  know  all  that  ? 
'  There  she  sat  in  the  parlor  taking  notes,  after  the  usual  fash 
ion  of  lady  callers,  while  Mrs.  John  Smith  hurriedly  tied  on 
her  bonnet,  to  hide  her  disheveled  tresses,  threw  on  a  shawl, 
and  made  her  appearance  in  the  parlor  as  if  "just  returned  from 
a  walk." 

How  their  tongues  ran !  how  fashions  and  gossip  were  dis 
cussed  ;  how  Mrs.  Smith  admired  Mrs.  Hunter's  new  dress 
hat ;  how  the  latter  lady  advised  Mrs.  Smith  to  "  insist  on  her 
husband's  moving  from  such  a"n  undesirable  neighborhood  into 
a  more  aristocratic  locality  ; "  and  how  Mrs.  Smith  wondered 
that  the  idea  had  never  struck  her  before ;  and  how  Mrs.  Hun 
ter  told  her  that  of  course  Mr.  Smith  would  refuse  at  first,  but 
that  she  must  either  worry  him  into  it,  or  seize  upon  some  mo 
ment  of  conjugal  weakness  to  extort  a  binding  promise  from 
him  to  that  effect ;  and  how  the  little  wife  blushed  to  find  her 
self  conniving  at  this  feminine  piece  of  diabolism. 

Mrs.  John  Smith's  husband  commenced  life  in  a  provision 
store.  He  was  well  acquainted  with  cleavers,  white  aprons, 
and  spare-ribs  —  was  on  hand  early  and  late  to  attend  to  busi 
ness  —  trusted  nobody  —  lived  within  his  income,  and  conse 
quently  made  money. 

Miss  Mary  Wood  kept  a  dressmaker's  establishment  just 
over  the  way.  Very  industriously  she  sat  through  the  long 
summer  days,  drooping  her  pretty  golden  ringlets  over  that 
never-ending  succession  of  dresses.  Patiently  she  "  took  in," 
and  "  let  out,"  bias-ed,  flounced,  tucked,  gathered  and  plaited, 


52  A    HOUSE   IN    ST.  JO  UN's    S  QUA  HE. 

at  the  weathercock  option  of  her  customers.  Uneasily  she 
leaned  her  head  against  her  little  window  at  sundown,  and 
earnestly  Mr.  John  Smith  wished  he  could  reprieve  forever 
from  such  drudgery  those  taper  little  fingers.  Very  tempting 
was  the  little  basket  of  early  strawberries,  covered  with  fresh 
green  leaves,  that  went  across  the  way  to  her  one  bright  sum 
mer  morning  —  and  as  red  as  the  strawberries,  and  quite  as 
tempting,  looked  Miss  Mary's  cheek  to  Mr.  John  Smith,  as  she 
sat  at  the  window,  reading  the  little  billetrdoux  which  he  slily 
tucked  into  one  corner. 

The  milkman  wondered  why  -Mr.  Smith  had  grown  so  par 
ticular  about  the  flowers  in  the  bouquets  his  little  grand-daughter 
plucked  for  sale,  and  why  there  must  always  be  "  a  rose-bud  in 
it"  Miss  Rosa  Violet  could  n't  imagine  what  ailed  her  dress 
maker,  Miss  Wood,  (who  was  always  so  scrupulous  in  execu 
ting  orders,)  to  make  her  boddice  round,  when  she  told  her  so 
particularly  to  make  it  pointed.  The  little  sewing  girls  em 
ployed  in  Miss  Wood's  shop  were  "  afraid  she  was  getting  cra 
zy,"  she  smiled  so  often  to  herself,  broke  so  many  needles,  and 
made  so  many  mistakes  in  settling  up  their  accounts  on  pay 
day ;  and  very  great  was  their  astonishment  one  day,  after  fin 
ishing  a  pretty  bridal  dress,  to  find  that  Miss  Wood  was  to 
wear  it  herself  to  church  the  very  next  Sunday ! 

One  bright  June  morning  found  the  little  dressmaker  in  a 
nice,  two  story  brick  house,  furnished  with  every  comfort,  and 
some  luxuries ;  for  the  warm-hearted  John  thought  nothing  half 
good  enough  for  his  little  golden-haired  bride.  As  time  passed 
on,  other  little  luxuries  were  added  ;  including  two  nice,  fat,  dim 


A     HOUSE     IN     ST.  JO  UN's     SQUARE.  53 

pled  babies ;  and  within  the  last  year  John  had  bought  the 
house  they  lived  in,  and  at  Mary's  suggestion  introduced  gas, 
to  lighten  the  labors  of  the  servant,  and  also  added  a  little 
bathing-room  to  the  nursery.  His  table  was  well  provided 
— the  mother's  and  children's  wardrobes  ample,  and  not  a 
husband  in  Yankee  land  was  prouder  or  happier  than  John  Smith, 
when  on  a  sunshiny  Sunday,  he  walked  to  church  with  his 
pretty  wife,  whose  golden  curls  still  gleamed  from  beneath  her 
little  blue  bonnet,  followed  by  Katy  and  Georgy  with  their 
shining  rosy  faces,  and  pretty  Sunday  dresses. 

It  was  quite  time  the  honeymoon  should  wane,  but  still  it 
showed  no  signs  of  decrease.  Little  bouquets  still  perfumed 
Mary's  room.  John  still  sprung  to  pick  up  her  handkerchief, 
or  aid  her  in  putting  on  her  cloak  or  shawl.  The  anniver 
sary  of  their  wedding  day  always  brought  her  a  kind  little 
note,  with  some  simple  remembrancer.  Trifles,  do  you  call 
these  ?  Ah,  a  wife's  happiness  is  made  or  marred  by  just  such 
"trifles." 


"Katy  will  make  somebody's  heart  ache  one  of  these  days, 
said  John  Smith  to  his  wife.  Katy  will  be  a  beauty.  Did  you 
hear  me,  Mary  1 " 

"  Yes,"  said  Mary,  drooping  her  bright  ringlets  till  they  swept 
John's  cheek,  "and  I  was  thinking  how  I  hoped  she  would 
marry  well,  and  whether  it  would  not  be  better  for  us  to  move 
into  a  more  genteel  neighborhood,  and  form  a  new  set  of  ac 
quaintances." 

"My  little  wife  getting  ambitious !"  said  John,  smoothing  her 


54  A   HOUSE  IN   ST.  JOHN'S   BQ  U  ARE. 

ringlets  back  from  her  white  forehead ;  "  and  where  would  you 
like  to  live,  Mary  ?  " 

"St.  John's  Square  is  a  nice  place,"  said  the  little  wife, 
timidly. 

"  Yes ;  but  my  dear  Mary,  rents  there  are  enormous,  and 
those  large  houses  require  a  greater  outlay  of  money  than  you 
have  any  idea  of.  The  furniture  which  looks  pretty  and  in 
good  taste  here,  would  be  quite  shabby  in  such  an  elegant  estab 
lishment.  The  pretty  de  laine,  which  fits  your  little  round  fig 
ure  so  charmingly,  must  give  place  to  a  silk  or  brocade.  Katy 
and  Georgy  must  doff  their  simple  dresses,  for  velvet  and  em 
broidery;  broad-faced,  red-fisted  Bridget  must  make  way  for  a 
French  cook.  The  money  which  I  have  placed  in  the  bank  for 
a  nest-egg  for  you  and  the  children  in  case  of  my  death,  must 
be  withdrawn  to  meet  present  demands.  But  we  will  talk  of 
this  another  time :  good-by  Mary,  dear ;  not  even  your  dear 
face  must  tempt  me  away  from  business  ;  good-by,"  and 
he  kissed  his  hand  to  her,  as  he  walked  rapidly  out  the 
door. 

But  somehow  or  other  Mary's  words  kept  ringing  in  John's 
ears.  It  was  very  true  Katy  must  be  married  some  day,  and 
then  he  ran  over  the  circle  of  their  acquaintance ;  the  Stubbses, 
and  the  Joneses,  and  the  Jenkinses — good  enough  in  their  way, 
but  (he  confessed  to  himself)  not  just  the  thing  for  his  Katy. 
John  was  ambitious  too :  Mary  was  right ;  they  ought  to  con 
sider  that  Katy  would  soon  be  a  woman. 

It  is  not  to  be  supposed  because  John  Smith  never  sported 
white  kids,  save  on  his  wedding  day,  that  he  was  not  a  man  of 


A    HOUSE   IN    ST.   JOHN'S    SQUARE.  55 

taste ;  by  no  means.  Not  an  artistic  touch  of  Mary's  feminine 
fingers,  from  the  twist  of  a  ringlet  or  ribbon  to  the  draping 
of  a  curtain,  the  judicious  disposal  of  a  fine  engraving,  or  the 
harmonious  blending  of  colors  in  a  mantel  bouquet,  escaped  him. 
It  was  his  joy  and  pride  to  see  her  glide  about  his  home,  beau 
tifying  almost  unconsciously  everything  she  touched;  and  then, 
he  remembered  when  she  was  ill,  and  Bridget  had  the  over 
sight  of  the  parlors — what  a  different  air  they  had ;  how  awk 
wardly  the  chairs  looked  plastered  straight  against  the  wall  — 
how  ugly  the  red  cloth  all  awry  on  the  centre  table ;  what 
a  string-y  look  the  curtains  had,  after  her  clumsy  fingers  had 
passed  over  them.  Yes,  Mary  would  grace  a  house  in  St. 
John's  Square,  and  if  it  would  make  her  any  happier  to  go  there 
(and  here  he  glanced  at  his  ledger) — why,  go  she  should — for 
she  was  just  the  prettiest,  and  dearest,  and  most  loving  little 
Mary  who  ever  answered  to  that  poetical  name.  What  would 
full  coffers  avail  him,  if  Mary  should  die1? — and  she  might  die 
first.  His  health  was  good — his  business  was  good.  Mary  and 
Katy  should  live  in  St.  John's  Square. 

Mary  and  Katy  did  live  in  St.  John's  Square.  The  uphol 
sterer  crammed  as  many  hundreds  as  possible  into  the  drawing 
rooms,  in  the  shape  of  vis-a-vis  antique  chairs,  velvet  sofas,  dam 
ask  curtains,  mirrors,  tapestry,  carpets,  and  a  thousand  other 
nick-nacks,  too  numerous  to  mention:  then  the  blinds  and  cur 
tains  shut  out  the  glad  sunlight,  lest  the  warm  beams  should 
fade  out  the  rich  tints  of  the  carpets  and  curtains,  and  left  it  as 
fine  and  as  gloomy  as  any  other  fashionable  drawing  room. 
There  was  a  very  pretty  prospect  from  Mary's  chamber  win- 


50  A    HOUSE    IN    8  T.  J  O  H  N'S    S  Q  U  A  K  E  . 

dows,  but  she  never  allowed  herself  to  enjoy  it,  after  Airs.  John 
Hunter  told  her,  that  it  was  considered  "  decidedly  snobbish  to 
be  seen  at  the  front  window."  The  Smiths  took  their  meals  in 
a  gloomy  basement,  where  gas  was  indispensable  at  mid-day. 
Mary  was  constantly  in  fear  that  the  servants  would  spoil  the 
pictures  and  statues  in  the  parlor,  so  she  concluded  to  sweep  and 
dust  it  herself,  before  there  was  any  probability  of  Mrs.  John 
Hunter's  being  awake  in  the  morning.  As  this  was  something 
of  a  tax,  she  and  Mr.  Smith  and  the  children  kept  out  of  it, 
except  on  Sundays  and  when  company  called,  burrowing 
under  ground  the  residue  of  the  time  in  the  afore-mentioned 
basement. 

Directly  opposite  Mrs.  Smith  lived  Mrs.  Vivian  Grey,  the 
leader  of  the  aristocracy  (so  Mrs.  Hunter  informed  her)  in  St. 
John's  Square.  It  was  a  great  tiling  to  be  noticed  by  Mrs. 
Vivian  Grey.  Mrs.  Hunter  sincerely  hoped  she  would  patron 
ise  Mrs.  Smith.  Mrs.  Hunter,  after  a  minute  survey,  pro 
nounced  Mrs.  Smith's  establishment  quite  comme  il  faut,  but 
suggested  that  a  real  cachemire  should  be  added  as  soon  as 
possible  to  Mrs.  Smith's  wardrobe,  as  Mrs.  Grey  considered 
that  article  quite  indispensable  to  a  woman  of  fashion.  She 
also  suggested  that  Mrs.  Smith  should  delicately  hint  to  her 
husband  the  propriety  of  his  engaging  a  man  servant,  which  ap 
pendage  was  necessary  to  give  a  certain  distingu6  finish  to  the 
establishment ;  an  Irishman  would  do,  if  well  trained,  but  a 
black  man  was  more  fashionable,  provided  he  was  not  green — 
and  Mrs.  Hunter  smiled  at  her  own  wit. 

The  cachemire  was  added  —  so  was  the  black  servant-man. 


A  HOUSE  IN  ST.  JOHN'S  SQUARE.  57 

Katy  no  longer  skipped  and  jumped,  but  minced  in  corsets  and 
whalebone.  She  never  ate  unless  at  a  private  lunch  with 
mamma.  Mr.  John  Smith  staid  late  at  his  counting-room,  and 
looked  anxious,  and  two  ugly  lines  made  their  appearance  on 
Mrs.  Mary's  fair  forehead.  The  French  cook  gave  away  pro 
visions  enough  to  feed  an  entire  family  of  French  emigrants. 
The  black  man-servant  pulled  up  his  dicky  and  informed  Mrs. 
Smith  that  it  was  at  the  price  of  his  reputation  to  live  with  a 
family  who  dispensed  with  the  use  of  finger  bowls,  and  the 
house-maid  (who  had  the  honor  of  being  descended  from 
the  establishment  of  Mrs.  Vivian  Grey)  declined  remaining 
with  a  family  who  did  n't  keep  a  private  carriage. 

Mrs.  Vivian  Gr^y  was  not  baited  by  the  real  cachemire,  and 
her  son,  little  Julius  Grey,  a  precocious  youth  of  ten,  told  little 
George  Smith  that  his  mamma  had  forbidden  him  playing  mar 
bles  with  a  boy  whose  father  had  kept  a  provision  store. 

A  scurrilous  penny  paper  published  a  burlesque  of  Mrs. 
Smith's  first  grand  party,  on  the  coming  out  of  Miss  Katy,  in 
which,  among  other  allusions  to  Mr.  Smith's  former  occupa 
tion,  the  ball-room  was  said  to  be  "  elegantly  festooned  with 
sausages."  This  added  "  the  last  ounce  to  the  camel's  back ;  " 
even  Mrs.  Hunter's  tried  friendship  was  not  proof  against  such 
a  test. 

A  council  of  war  was  called.  Mrs.  Smith  begged  her  hus 
band,  as  her  repentant  arms  encircled  his  dicky,  to  buy  a  place 
in  the  country.  John  very  gladly  consented  to  turn  his  plebeian 
back  forever  on  the  scene  of  their  humiliation ;  and  what  with 


58  A  HOUSE  IN  ST.  JOHN'S  SQUARE. 

strawberries  and  cherries,  peaches,  pic-nics,  early  rising  and 
light  hearts,  the  Smith  family  have  once  more  recovered  their 
equanimity,  and  can  afford  to  laugh  when  "St.  John's  Square" 
and  Mrs.  John  Hunter  are  mentioned. 


WINTER   IS   COMING. 

WELCOME  his  rough  grip  !  welcome,  the  fleet  horse  with  fly 
ing  feet,  and  arching  throat,  neck-laced  with  merry  bells ; 
welcome,  bright  eyes,  and  rosy  cheeks,  and  furred  robes,  and 
the  fun-provoking  sleigh-ride ;  welcome,  the  swift  skater  who 
skims,  bird-like,  the  silvery  pond  ;  welcome,  Old  Santa  Glaus 
with  his  horn  of  plenty ;  welcome,  the  "  Happy  New- Year," 
with  her  many-voiced  echoes,  and  gay  old  Thanksgiving,  with 
his  groaning  table,  old  friends  and  new  babies ;  welcome,  for  the 
bright  fireside,  the  closed  curtains,  the  dear,  unbroken  home- 
circle,  the  light  heart,  the  merry  jest,  the  beaming  smile,  the 
soft  "  good-night,"  the  downy  bed,  and  rosy  slumbers. 


WINTER   IS    COMING. 

ALAS  for  his  rough  grip  !  the  barrel  of  meal  is  empty,  and 
the  cruse  of  oil  fails.  Sharp  winds  flutter  thin  rags  'round 
shivering  limbs.  There  are  pinched  features,  and  benumbed 
feet,  and  streaming  eyes,  and  repulsed  hands,  and  despairing 
hearts ;  there  are  damp  cojners,  and  straw  pallets,  and  hollow 
coughs,  and  hectic  cheeks ;  there  are  dismantled  roofs,  through 


60  WINTER     IS     CO  MING. 

which  the  snow  gently  drops  its  white,  icy  pall  over  the  wasted 
limbs  of  the  dying ;  there  are  babes  whose  birthright  is  pov 
erty,  whose  legacy  is  shame,  whose  baptism  is  tears,  whose  Hi 
tie  life  is  all  winter. 


"THE    OTHER    SEX." 

"  Let  cynics  prattle  as  they  may,  our  existence  hero,  without  the  presence  of  the 
jther  sex,  would  bo  only  a  dark  and  cheerless  void." 

Which  "  other  sex  1 "  Don't  be  so  obscure.  Dr.  Beecher 
says,  "  that  a  writer's  ideas  should  stand  out  like  rabbits'  ears, 
so  that  the  reader  can  get  hold  of  them."  If  you  allude  to  the 
female  sex,  I  don't  subscribe  to  it.  I  wish  they  were  all 
"translated."  If  there  is  anything  that  gives  me  the  sensations 
of  a  landsman  on  his  first  sea  voyage,  it  is  the  sight  of  a  bonnet. 
Think  of  female  friendship !  Two  women  joining  the  Mutual 
Admiration  Society ;  emptying  their  budget  of  love  affairs ; 
comparing  bait  to  entrap  victims ;  sighing  over  the  same  rose 
leaf;  sonuetizing  the  same  moonbeam  ;  patronizing  the  same 
milliner,  and  exchanging  female  kisses !  (Betty,  hand  me 
my  fan !) 

Well,  let  either  have  one  bonnet  or  one  lover  more  than  the 
other  —  or,  if  they  are  blue  stockings,  let  either  be  one  round 
the  higher  on  Fame's  ladder  —  bodkins  and  darning  needles  ! 
what  a  tempest !  Caps  and  characters  in  such  a  case  are  of  no 
account  at  all.  Oh,  there  never  should  be  but  one  woman 
alive  at  a  time.  Then  the  fighting  would  be  all  where  it  be 
longs  —  in  the  masculine  camp.  What  a  time  there  'd  be, 


" 


THE    OTHER    SEX. 

though  !  Would  n't  she  be  a  belle  1  Bless  her  little  soul  !  how 
she  would  queen  it.  It  makes  me  clap  my  hands  to  think  of 
it.  The  only  woman  in  the  world!  If  it  were  I,  shouldn't 
they  all  leave  off  smoking,  and  wearing  those  odious  plaid  con 
tinuations  1  Should  they  ever  wear  an  outside  coat,  with  the 
flaps  cut  off,  or  a  Kossuth  hat,  or  a  yellow  Marseilles  vest  ?  —  or 
a  mammoth  bow  on  their  neck-ties  ;  or  a  turnover  dickey  ;  or 
a  watch-chain  ;  or  a  ring  on  the  little  finger  ?  —  or  any  other 
abomination  or  off-shoot  of  dandyism  whatsoever  1  Should  n't 
I  politely  request  them  all  to  touch  their  hats,  instead  of  jerking 
their  heads,  when  they  bowed  ?  Would  n't  I  coax  them  to 
read  me  poetry  till  they  had  the  bronchitis  ?  Would  n't  they 
play  on  the  flute,  and  sing  the  soul  out  of  me  1  And  then  if 
they  were  sick,  would  n't  I  pet  them,  and  tell  them  all  sorts  of 
comicalities,  and  make  time  fly  like  the  mischief?  Shouldn't 
wonder  ! 


SOLILOQUY    OF    MR.    BROADBRIM. 

"THERE'S  another  of  Miss  Fiddlestick's  articles!  She's 
getting  too  conceited,  that  young  woman !  Just  like  all 
newly-fledged  writers  —  mistakes  a  few  obscure  newspaper 
puffs  for  the  voice  of  the  crowd,  and  considers  herself  on 
the  top  round  of  the  literary  ladder.  It  will  take  me  to 
take  the  wind  out  of  her  sails.  I  '11  dissect  her,  before  I  'm  a 
da^"  older,  as  sure  as  my  name  is  Ezekiel  Broadbrim.  I  don't 
approve  her  style ;  never  did.  It 's  astonishing  to  me  that  the 
editor  of  The  Green  Twig  dare  countenance  it,  when  he  knows 
a  man  of  my  influence  could  annihilate  her  with  one  stroke  of 
my  pen.  She  has  talent  of  a  certain  inferior  order,  but  nothing 
to  speak  of.  She  's  an  unsafe  model  to  follow ;  will  lead  her 
tribe  of  imitators  into  tremendous  mistakes.  It 's  a  religious 
duty  for  a  conspicuous  sentinel,  like  myself,  on  Zion's  walls,  to 
sound  the  blast  of  alarm ; — can 't  answer  it  to  my  conscience  to 
be  silent  any  longer.  It  might  be  misconstrued.  The  welfare 
of  the  world  in  general,  and  her  soul  in  particular,  requires  a 
very  decided  expression  of  my  disapprobation.  I  'm  sorry  to 
annihilate  her,  but  when  Ezekiel  Broadbrim  makes  up  his  mind 
what  is  the  path  of  duty,  a  bright  seraph  could  n't  stop  him. 
Perhaps  I  may  pour  a  drop  of  the  balm  of  consolation  after 


64  SOLILOQUY     OF     MK.      BROADBKIM. 

wards,  but  it  depends  altogether  upon  whether  I  succeed  in 
bringing  her  into  a  penitential  frame  of  mind.  It 's  my  private 
opinion  she  is  an  incorrigible  sinner.  Hand  me  my  pen,  John. 
Every  stroke  of  it  will  tell." 


WILLY  GREY. 

A  STERN,  unyielding,  line-and-plummet,  May-flower  descend 
ant,  was  old  Farmer  Grey,  of  Allantown,  Connecticut.  Many  a 
crop  had  he  planted,  many  a  harvest  had  he  garnered  in,  since 
he  first  became  owner  of  Glen  Farm.  During  that  time,  that 
respected  individual,  "  the  oldest  inhabitant,"  could  not  remem. 
ber  ever  to  have  seen  him  smile.  The  village  children  shied 
close  to  the  stone  wall,  and  gave  him  a  wide  berth,  when  he 
passed.  Even  the  cats  and  dogs  laid  their  ears  back,  and  crept 
circumspectly  by  him,  with  one  eye  on  his  whip-lash. 

Farmer  Grey  considered  it  acceptable  to  the  God  who 
painted  the  rainbow,  and  expanded  the  lily,  and  tinted  the  rose, 
to  walk  the  bright  earth  with  his  head  bowed  like  a  bulrush, 
and  his  soul  clad  in  sackcloth.  No  mercy  fell  from  the  lips  of 
his  imaginary  Saviour;  no  compassion  breathed  in  His  voice  ; 
no  love  beamed  in  His  eye ;  His  sword  of  justice  was  never 
sheathed. 

The  old  farmer's  wife  was  a  gentle,  dependent  creature,  a 
delicate  vine,  springing  up  in  a  sterile  soil,  reaching  forth  its 
tendrils  vainly,  for  some  object  to  cling  to.  God,  in  his  mercy, 
twined  them  lovingly  around  a  human  blossom.  Little  Willy 
partook  of  his  mother's  sensitive,  poetical  nature.  A  yearning 
5b 


66  WILLY    GREY. 

spirit  looked  out  from  the  fathomless  depths  of  his  earnest 
eyes.  Only  eight  short  summers  the  gentle  mother  soothed 
her  boy's  childish  pains,  and  watched  his  childish  slumbers. 
While  he  grew  in  strength  and  beauty,  her  eye  waxed  dim,  and 
her  step  grew  slow  and  feeble. 

And  so  sweet  memories  were  only  left  to  little  Willy, — 
dear,  loving  eyes,  whose  glance  ever  met  his  on  waking ;  a 
fair,  caressing  hand,  that  wiped  away  his  April  tears ;  a  low, 
gentle  voice,  sweet  to  his  childish  ear  as  a  seraph's  hymning. 

Willy's  father  told  him  that  "  his  mother  had  gone  to  Heaven," 
John,  the  plough-boy,  said  "she  was  lying  in  the  church 
yard."  Willy  could  not  understand  this.  He  only  knew  that 
the  house  had  grown  dark  and  empty,  and  that  his  heart  ached 
when  he  stayed  there ;  and  so  he  wandered  out  in  the  little 
garden,  (his  mother's  garden ; )  but  the  flowers  looked  dreary, 
too ;  and  her  pretty  rose-vine  lay  trailing  its  broken  buds  and 
blighted  blossoms  in  the  dust. 

Then  Willy  crept  up  to  his  father's  side,  and  looked  up  in 
his  face,  but  there  was  something  there  that  made  him  afraid 
to  lay  his  little  hand  upon  his  knee,  or  climb  into  his  lap,  or  in 
any  way  unburden  his  little  heart ;  so  he  turned  away,  more 
sorrowful  than  before,  and  wandered  into  his  mother's  chamber, 
and  climbed  up  in  her  chair,  and  opened  her  drawer,  to  look  at 
her  comb  and  hair  brush ;  and  then  he  went  to  the  closet,  and 
passed  his  little  hand,  caressingly,  over  her  empty  dresses,  and 
leaning  his  little  curly  head  against  them,  sobbed  himself  to 
sleep. 

By  and  by,  as  years  passed  on,  and  the  child  grew  older,  he 


WILLVGREY.  67 

learned  to  wander  out  in  the  woods  and  fields,  and  unbosom  his 
little  yearning  heart  to  Nature.  Reposing  on  her  breast,  lis 
tening  to  the  music  of  her  thousand  voices,  his  unquiet  spirit 
was  soothed  as  with  a  mother's  lullaby.  With  kindling  eye, 
he  watched  the  vivid  lightnings  play  ;  or,  saw  the  murky  east 
flush,  like  a  timid  bride,  into  rosy  day ;  or,  beheld  the  shining 
folds  of  western  clouds  fade  softly  into  twilight ;  or,  gazed  at 
the  Queen  of  Night,  as  she  cut  her  shining  path  through  the 
cloudy  sky;  or,  questioned,  with  earnest  eyes,  the  glittering  stars. 

All  this  but  ill  pleased  the  old  farmer.  He  looked  upon  the 
earth  only  with  an  eye  to  tillage ;  upon  the  sloping  hill,  with 
its  pine-crowned  summit,  only  with  an  eye  to  timber ;  upon 
the  changeful  skies,  only  as  reservoirs  for  moistening  and  warm 
ing  his  crops ;  upon  the  silver  streams,  that  laced  the  emerald 
meadows,  only  as  channels  for  irrigation ;  upon  the  climbing 
vine,  as  an  insidious  foe  to  joists,  and  beams,  and  timbers ;  and 
upon  flowers,  only  as  perfumed  aristocrats,,  crowding  and 
over-topping  the  free-soil  democracy  of  cabbage,  onions,  and 
potatoes. 

In  vain  poor  Will  tried  to  get  up,  "  to  order,"  an  enthusiasm 
for  self-acting  hay-cutters,  patent  plows,  rakes,  hoes,  and  har 
rows.  In  vain,  when  Sunday  came,  and  he  was  put  "on  the 
limits,"  did  the  old  farmer,  with  a  face  ten-fold  more  ascetic 
than  the  cowled  monk,  strive  to  throw  a  pall  of  gloom  over 
that  free,  glad  spirit,  by  rehearsing,  in  his  ear,  a  creed  which 
would  forever  close  the  gate  of  heaven  on  every  dissenter,  or 
inculcate  doctrines,  which,  if  believed,  would  fill  our  lunatic 
asylums  with  the  frantic  wailings  of  despair. 


68  W  I  L  L  V     GREY. 

Restlessly  did  Will,  with  cramped  limbs  and  fettered  spirit, 
sit  out  the  tedious  hours  of  that  holy  day,  which  should  be  the 
"  most  blessed  of  all  the  seven,"  and  watch,  with  impatient  eye, 
the  last  golden  beam  of  the  Sabbath  sun  sink  slowly  down  be 
hind  the  western  hills. 

Oh,  well-meaning,  but  mistaken,  parent !  let  but  one  loving 
smile  play  over  those  frigid  lips:  let  but  one  tear  of  sympathy 
flood  that  stony  eye :  let  but  one  drop  from  that  overflowing 
fountain  of  love,  that  wells  up  in  the  bosom  of  the  Infinite, 
moisten  the  parched  soil  of  that  youthful  heart !  Open  those 
anns  but  once,  and  clasp  him  to  the  paternal  heart;  for 
even  now,  his  chafed  spirit,  like  a  caged  bird,  flutters  against 
its  prison  bars ;  even  now,  the  boy's  unquiet  ear  catches  the 
far-off  hum  of  the  busy  world :  even  now,  his  craving  heart 
beats  wildly  for  the  voice  of  human  love ! 


Weary  feet,  houseless  nights,  the  scant  meal,  and  the  oft- 
repulsed  request:  what  are  they  to  the  strong  nerve,  and  bound 
ing  pulse,  and  hopeful  heart  of  the  young  adventurer  1  Laurel 
wreaths,  dizzy  places  on  Ambition's  heights,  have  not  its  aspi 
rants  reached  them  by  just  such  rugged  steps  ? 

"  Will "  is  in  the  city.  Will  sits  upon  the  steps  of  the  New 
York  City  Hall,  reading  a  penny  paper  :  he  has  begged  it  from 
a  good-natured  newsboy,  who  has  also  shared  with  him  a  huge 
slice  of  gingerbread.  As  Will's  eye  glances  over  the  sheet,  it 
falls  upon  the  following  paragraph  : 


WILLYORKY.  69 

"PROSPECTUS  OF  THE  WEEKLY  CHRONICLE. 

"  The  Weekly  Chronicle  is  a  paper  founded  on  the  demands 
of  the  age  for  a  first-class  journal.  It  soars  above  all  sectional 
and  personal  considerations,  and  fearlessly  proffers  its  feeble 
aid,  in  developing  the  natural  resources  of  the  country,  fostering 
the  genius  of  the  people,  rewarding  meritorious  effort  in  every 
department  of  art,  exalting  virtue,  however  humble,  and  con 
founding  vice,  however  powerful.  The  editor  and  proprietor 
of  the  Chronicle  is  Mr.  Philanthropas  Howard;  office,  No.  199 
Cloud-street. 

"  Boy  wanted  immediately  at  the  above  office :  one  from  the 
country  would  be  preferred." 

Will  threw  down  the  paper,  and  started  to  his  feet :  "  199 
Cloud-street?"  He  asked  orange-women ;  he  asked  image-boys ; 
he  asked  merchants ;  he  asked  clerks ;  he  asked  lawyers ;  he 
asked  clients ;  he  investigated  cellars ;  he  explored  attics ; 
he  traveled  through  parks,  and  through  alleys;  till  finally, 
he  coaxed  a  graceless,  bare-footed  urchin  to  shew  him  the 
way. 

Mr.  John  Howard,  editor  and  proprietor  of  the  Weekly 
Chronicle,  went  upon  the  principle  of  paying  nothing  where  no 
thing  would  pay,  and  paying  as  little  as  possible  where  he  could 
get  something  for  next  to  nothing.  It  was  a  fixed  principle  and 
confirmed  practice  with  him,  never  to  pay  anything  for  contri 
butions  to  the  Chronicle.  He  considered  that  the  great  ad 
vantage  that  would  accrue  to  an  author  from  having  his  or  her 


0  WILLYGREY. 

articles  in  his  paper,  would  be  ample  remuneration.  At 
the  moment  Will's  eye  first  fell  upon  him,  he  was  reposing  in 
a  huge  leathern  arm  chair,  in  the  corner  of  his  sanctum.  His 
proportions  very  much  resembled  an  apoplectic  bag  of  flour, 
surmounted  by  an  apple.  His  head  was  ornamented  with 
sparse  spires  of  fiery  red  hair  ;  on  his  cheeks,  a  pair  of  cream- 
colored  whiskers  were  feebly  struggling  into  life ;  and  sundry  tufts 
of  the  same  color,  under  his  chin,  shadowed  forth  his  editorial 
sympathy  with  the  recent  "  Beard  Movement."  Before  him 
was  a  table,  of  doubtful  hue  and  architecture,  laden  with  manu 
scripts,  accepted,  rejected,  and  under  consideration ;  letters  of 
all  sizes,  opened  and  unopened,  prepaid  and  unpaid,  saucy  and 
silly,  defiant  and  deprecatory.  There  was  also  an  inkstand, 
crusted  with  dirt  and  cobwebs  ;  a  broken  paper  weight,  pinning 
down  some  bad  money,  paid  by  distant  subscribers  ;  a  camphene 
lamp,  with  a  broken  pedestal,  propped  up  by  a  Directory  on 
one  side,  and  Walker's  Dictionary  on  the  other ;  sundry  stumps 
of  cigars ;  a  half-eaten  apple ;  a  rind  of  an  orange  ;  a  lady's 
glove,  and  a  box  of  bilious  pills. 

Will  stepped  before  him,  and  made  known  his  errand.  Mr. 
John  Howard  looked  at  him,  with  a  portentous  scowl,  inspected 
him  very  much  as  he  would  a  keg  of  doubtful  mackerel,  and 
then  referred  him  to  the  foreman  of  the  office,  Mr.  Jack  Punch. 
Jack  had  been  victimized,  in  the  way  of  office  boys,  for  an  in 
definite  period,  with  precocious  city  urchins,  who  smoked  long 
nines,  talked  politics,  discussed  theatricals,  and  knew  more  of 
city  haunts  than  the  police  themselves.  Of  course  he  lost  no 
time  in  securing  a  boy  to  whose  verdant  feet  the  plow-soil  was 


WILLY     GREY.  71 

still  clinging.  Will's  business  was  to  open  the  office  at  half 
past  six  in  the  morning,  sweep  it  out,  make  the  fires,  go  to  the 
post-office  for  letters  and  exchanges,  wrap  up  papers  for  new 
subscribers,  carry  them  to  the  post,  and  see  that  the  mail  was 
properly  "  got  off"  To  all  these  requirements,  Will  immedi 
ately  subscribed. 

On  Will's  daily  tramps  to  and  from  the  office,  he  was  obliged 
to  pass  Lithe  &  Co.'s  magnificent  show  window,  where  the 
choicest  pictures  and  engravings  were  constantly  exposed  for 
sale.  There  he  might  be  seen  loitering,  entranced  and  spell 
bound,  quite  oblivious  of  the  Chronicle,  hour  after  hour,  weav 
ing  bright  visions  —  building  air  castles,  with  which  his  over 
seer,  Mr.  Jack  Punch,  had  little  sympathy.  Yes  ;  Will  had 
at  length  found  out  what  he  was  made  for.  He  knew  now  why 
he  had  lain  under  the  trees,  of  a  bright  summer  day,  watching 
the  fleecy  clouds  go  sailing  by,  in  such  a  dreamy  rapture ;  why 
the  whispering  leaves,  and  waving  fields  of  grain,  and  drooping 
branches  of  graceful  trees,  and  the  mirror-like  beauty  of  the 
placid  lake,  reflecting  a  mimic  heaven ;  why  the  undulating 
hills,  and  mist-wreathed  valleys,  with  their  wealth  of  leaf,  and 
buds  and  blossom,  filled  his  eyes  with  tears  and  his  soul  with 
untold  joy,  and  why,  when  slumber  sealed  each  weary  lid  under 
the  cottage  eaves,  he  stood  alone,  hushing  his  very  breath,  awe 
struck,  beneath  the  holy  stars. 

Poor  Will,  his  occupation  became  so  distasteful !  Poor  Will, 
winged  for  a  "  bird  of  paradise,"  and  forced  to  be  a  mole,  bur 
rowing  under  the  earth,  when  he  would  fain  try  his  new-found 
pinions  !  To  Jack's  intense  disgust,  he  soon  detected  Will'  in 


72  W  I  L  L  Y     G  R  E  Y. 

drawing  rude  sketches  on  bits  of  paper,  stray  wrappers, 
and  backs  of  letters ;  even  the  walls  were  "  done  in  cray 
ons,"  by  the  same  mischievous  fingers.  His  vision  was  so  filled 
"  with  the  curved  line  of  beauty,"  that  he  was  constantly  com 
mitting  the  most  egregious  blunders.  He  misplaced  the  bun 
dles  of  newspapers  which  he  carried  to  the  post-office  ;  placing 
the  "  north  "  packages  on  the  "  south  "  table,  the  east  on  the 
north,  the  south  on  the  east,  &c.;  mixing  them  up  generally 
and  indescribably  and  inextricably,  so  that  the  subscribers  to 
the  "  Weekly  Chronicle  "  did  not  receive  their  papers  with 
that  precision  and  regularity  which  is  acknowledged  to  be  desi 
rable,  particularly  in  small  country  places,  where  the  black 
smith's  shop,  the  engine  house,  and  "  the  newspaper "  form  a 
trio  not  to  be  despised  by  the  simple-hearted,  primitive  farmers. 

Jack,  whose  private  opinion  it  was  that  he  should  have  been 
christened  Job,  being  obliged  to  shoulder  all  the  short-comings 
of  his  assistants,  and  being  worked  up  to  a  pitch  of  frenzy  by 
letters  from  incensed  subscribers,  which  Mr.  Howard  constantly 
thrust  in  his  face,  very  unceremoniously  ejected  Will  from  the 
premises,  one  morning,  by  a  vigorous  application  of  the  toe  of 
his  boot. 

The  world  was  again  a  closed  oyster  to  Will.  How  to 
open  it  1  that  was  the  question.  Our  hero  thought  the  best 
place  to  consider  the  matter  was  at  "  Lithe  &  Co.'s  shop-win 
dow.  Just  as  he  reached  it,  a  gentleman  passed  out  of  the  shop, 
followed  by  a  lad  bearing  a  small  framed  landscape.  Perhaps 
the  gentleman  was  an  artist !  Perhaps  he  could  employ  him 
in  some  way !  Will  resolved  to  follow  him. 


WILL  Y      G  it  K  Y .  73 

Up  one  street  and  down  another,  round  comers  and  through 
squares — the  gentleman's  long  legs  seemed  to  be  shod  with 
the  famed  seven-leagued  boots.  At  length  he  stopped  before 
the  door  of  an  unpretending  looking  building,  and  handing  the 
lad  who  accompanied  him  a  bit  of  money,  he  took  from  him 
the  picture,  and  was  just  springing  up  the  steps,  when  he  lost 
his  balance,  and  the  picture  was  jerked  violently  from  his  hand, 
but  only  to  be  caught  by  the  watchful  Will,  who  restored  it  to 
its  owner  uninjured. 

"  Thank  you,  my  boy,"  said  the  gentleman,  "  you  have  done 
me  a  greater  service  than  you  think  for  ;  "  at  the  same  time 
offering  him  some  money. 

"No,  I  thank  you,"  said  Will,  proudly.  "  I  do  not  wish  to. 
be  paid  for  it." 

"  As  you  please,  Master  Independence,"  replied  the  gentle 
man,  laughing  ;  "  but  is  there  no  other  way  I  can  serve  you  1 " 

"  Are  you  an  artist  1 "  asked  Will. 

"  The  gentleman  raised  his  eyebrows,  with  a  comical  air,  and 
replied,  "  Well,  sometimes  I  think  I  am,  and  then,  cigain,  I  don't 
know ;  but  what  if  I  were  ?  " 

"  I  should  so  like  to  be  an  artist,"  said  Will,  the  quick  flush 
mounting  to  his  temples. 

"  You  !  "  exclaimed  the  gentleman,  taking  a  minute  survey  of 
Will's  nondescript  loute  ensemble,  "  Do  you  ever  draw  1 " 

"  Sometimes,"  replied  Will,  "  when  I  can  get  a  bit  of  char 
coal,  and  a  white  wall.  I  was  just  kicked  out  of  the  Chroni 
cle  office  for  doing  it." 

D 


74  WILLY     GHEY. 

"  Follow  me,"  said  the  gentleman,  tapping  him  familiarly  on 
the  cheek. 

Will  needed  no  second  invitation.  Climbing  one  flight  of 
staire,  he  found  himself  in  a  small  studio,  lined  on  all  sides  by 
pictures ;  some  finished  and  framed,  others  in  various  stages 
of  progression.  Pallets,  brushes,  and  crayons,  lay  scattered 
round  an  easel ;  while  in  one  corner  was  an  artist's  lay  figure, 
which,  in  the  dim  light  of  the  apartment,  Will  mistook  for  the 
artist's  wife,  whose  presence  he  respectfully  acknowledged  by 
a  profound  bow,  to  the  infinite  amusement  of  his  patron. 

Mr.  Lester  was  delighted  with  Will's  naive  criticisms  on  his 
pictures,  and  his  profound  reverence  for  art.  A  few  days 
found  him  quite  domesticated  in  his  new  quarters ;  and 
months  passed  by  swift  as  a  weaver's  shuttle,  and  found 
him  as  happy  as  a  crowned  prince ;  whether  grinding 
colors  for  the  artist,  or  watching  the  progress  of  his  pencil, 
or  picking  up  stray  crumbs  of  knowledge  from  the  lips  of 
connoisseurs,  who  daily  frequented  the  studio ;  and  many  a 
rough  sketch  did  Will  make  in  his  little  corner,  that  would  have 
made  them  open  their  critical  eyes  wide  with  wonder. 


"  What  a  foolish  match ! "  Was  an  engagement  ever  an 
nounced  that  did  not  call  forth  this  remark,  from  some  dissent 
ing  lip  1  Perhaps  it  was  a  "  foolish  match."  Meta  had  no 
dower  but  her  beauty,  and  Will  had  no  capital  but  his  pallet 
and  easel.  The  gossips  said  she  "  might  have  done  much  bet 
ter."  There  was  old  Mr.  Hill,  whose  head  was  snow  white, 


WILLYGREY.  75 

but  whose  gold  was  as  yellow  and  as  plenty  as  Meta's  bright 
ringlets ;  and  Mr.  Vesey,  whose  father  made  a  clergyman  of 
him,  because  he  did  n't  know  enough  to  be  a  merchant ;  and 
Lawyer  Givens,  with  his  carrotty  head  and  turn-up  nose,  and 
chin  that  might  have  been  beat ;  and  Falstaffian  Captain  Kerf, 
who  brought  home  such  pretty  china  shawls  and  grass  cloth 
dresses,  and  who  had  as  many  wives  as  a  Grand  Turk.  Meta 
might  have  had  any  one  of  these  by  hoisting  her  little  fin 
ger.  Foolish  Meta !  money  and  misery  in  one  scale,  poverty 
and  love  in  the  other.  Miserable  little  Meta  !  And  yet  she 
does  not  look  so  very  miserable,  as  she  leans  over  her  husband's 
shoulder,  and  sees  the  landscape  brighten  on  the  canvass,  or 
presses  her  rosy  lips  to  his  forehead,  or  arranges  the  fold  of  a 
curtain  for  the  desired  light  and  shade,  or  grinds  his  colors  with 
her  own  dainty  little  fingers  ;  no,  she  looks  anything  but  mis 
erable  with  those  soft  eyes  so  full  of  light,  and  that  elastic  step, 
and  voice  of  music,  that  are  inspiration  to  her  artist  husband. 
No ;  she  thinks  the  "  old  masters "  were  fools  to  her  young 
master,  and  she  already  sees  the  day  when  his  studio  will  be 
crowded  with  connoisseurs  and  patrons,  and  his  pictures  bring 
him  both  fame  and  fortune ;  and  then,  they  will  travel  in  for 
eign  countries,  and  sleep  under  Italia's  soft  blue  skies,  and  see 
the  Swiss  glaciers,  and  the  rose-wreathed  homes  of  England, 
and  the  grim  old  chateaux  of  France,  and  perhaps  beard  old 
Haynau  in  his  den.  Who  knows1?  Yes;  and  Will  should  feast 
his  eyes  on  beauty,  and  they  'd  be  as  happy,  as  if  care  and  sor 
row  had  never  dimmed  a  bright  eye  with  tears,  since  the  ser 
aph  stood,  with  a  flaming  sword,  to  guard  the  gate  of  Eden. 


76  W  I  L  L  Y    G  K  E  Y  . 

Hopeful,  happy,  trusting  Meta  !  the  bird's  carol  is  not  sweeter 
than  yours  ; — and  yet  the  archer  takes  his  aim,  and  with  broken 
wing  it  flutters  to  the  ground. 

Yes :  Meta  was  an  angel.  Will  said  it  a  thousand  times  a 
day,  and  his  eyes  repeated  it  when  his  tongue  was  silent. 
Meta's  brow,  and  cheek,  and  lips,  and  tresses  were  multi 
plied  indefinitely,  in  all  his  female  heads.  Her  dimpled  hand, 
her  round  arm,  her  plump  shoulder,  her  slender  foot,  all  served 
him  for  faultless  models. 

Life  was  so  beautiful  to  him  now  !  his  employment  so  con 
genial,  his  heart  so  satisfied.  It  must  be  that  he  should  succeed. 
The  very  thought  of  failure —  "  but  then,  he  should  not  fail !  " 
Poor  Will !  he  had  yet  to  learn  that  garrets  are  as  often  the 
graves  as  the  nurseries  of  genius,  and  that  native  talent  goes 
unrecognized  until  stamped  with  foreign  approbation.  Hap 
pily —  hopefully  —  heroically  he  toiled  on;  morning's  earliest 
beam,  and  day's  last  lingering  ray  finding  him  busy  at  his 
easel.  But,  alas !  as  time  passed,  though  patrons  came  not, 
creditors  did  ;  and  one  year  after  their  marriage,  Meta  might 
have  been  seen  stealthily  conveying  little  parcels  back  and 
forth  to  a  small  shop  in  the  neighborhood,  where  employment 

9 

was  furnished  for  needy  fingers.  It  required  all  her  feminine 
tact  and  diplomacy  to  conceal  from  Will  her  little  secret,  or  to 
hide  the  tell-tale  blush,  when  he  noticed  the  disappearance  of 
her  wedding  ring,  which  now  lay  glittering  in  a  neighboring 
pawn-broker's  window  ;  yet  never  for  an  instant,  since  the  little 
wife  first  slept  on  Will's  heart,  had  she  one  misgiving  that  she 
had  placed  her  happiness  unalterably  in  his  keeping. 


WILLY    GREY.  77 

Oh,  inscrutable  womanhood  !  Pitiful  as  the  heart  of  God, 
when  the  dark  cloud  of  misfortune,  or  shame,  bows  the  strong 
frame  of  manhood  ;  merciless — vindictive — implacable  as  the 
Prince  of  Darkness,  towards  thy  tempted,  forsaken  and  sor 
rowing  sisters ! 


The  quick  eye  of  affection  was  not  long  in  discovering  Meta's 
secret ;  and  now  every  glance  of  love,  every  caress,  every  en 
dearing  tone  of  Meta's,  gave  Will's  heart  a  sorrow  pang. 

Meta !  who  had  turned  a  deaf  ear  to  richer  lovers,  to  share 
his  heart  and  home  ;  Meta !  whose  beauty  might  grace  a  court, 
whose  life  should  be  all  sunshine  :  that  Meta's  bright  eyes 
should  dim,  her  cheek  pale,  her  step  grow  prematurely  slow 
and  faltering,  for  him !  —  the  thought  was  torture. 


"  To-morrow,  Will — you  said  to-morrow,"  said  Meta,  hiding 
her  tears  on  her  husband's  shoulder ;  "  the  land  of  gold  is  also 
the  land  of graves"  and  she  gazed  mournfully  into  his  face. 

"  Dear  Meta,"  said  her  husband,  "  do  not  unman  me  with 
your  tears ;  our  parting  will  be  brief,  and  I  shall  return  to  you 
with  gold — gold!  Meta;  and  you  shall  yet  have  a  home 
worthy  of  you.  Bear  up,  dear  Meta  —  the  sun  will  surely 
break  through  the  cloud  rift.  God  bless  and  keep  my  darling 
wife." 

Poor  little  Meta !  for  hours  she  sat  stupefied  with  sorrow, 
in  the  same  spot  where  Will  had  left  her.  The  sun  shone 


78  WILLfGBEY. 

cheerfully  in  at  the  little  window  of  her  new  home,  but  its 
beams  brought  no  warmth  to  Meta's  heart.  The  clinging 
clasp  of  Will's  arms  was  still  about  her  neck  :  Will's  kiss  was 
still  warm  upon  her  lips,  and  yet  —  she  was  alone. 

She  thought,  with  a  shudder,  of  the  treacherous  sea ;  of  the 
pestilence  that  walketh  in  darkness ;  of  a  sick-bed,  on  a  foreign 
shore ;  of  the  added  bitterness  of  the  death  pang,  when  the 
eye  looks  vainly  for  the  one  loved  face ;  and  bowing  her  face 
in  her  hands,  she  wept  convulsively. 


"  Dear  heart !  Goodness  alive ! "  said  Meta's  landlady,  peep 
ing  in  at  the  door.  "  Do  n't  take  on  so ;  bless  me,  how  long 
have  you  been  married  ?  you  're  nothing  better  than  a  child 
now.  Why  did  n't  you  go  to  Califbrny  with  your  husband  1 
Where 's  your  folks  1  —  whose  picter  is  that  1  Ah !  I  see  now, 
it  is  meant  for  you.  But  why  did  n't  you  have  on  a  gown,' dear, 
instead  of  being  wrapped  up  in  them  clouds  1  It  makes  you 
look  like  a  sperit.  Come  now,  don't  sit  moping  here ;  come 
down  stairs  and  see  me  work ;  it  will  amuse  you  like.  I  'm 
going  to  make  some  brown  bread.  I  dare  say  you  never  made 
a  bit  of  brown  bread  in  your  life.  I  put  a  power  of  Ingin  in 
mine.  I  learned  that  in  the  country.  I  was  brought  up  in  the 
country.  I  hate  city  folks ;  they  've  no  more  heart  than  a  sex 
ton  ;  much  as  ever  they  can  stop  frolicking  long  enough  to  bury 
one  another.  They  '11  sleep,  too,  like  so  many  tops,  while  the 
very  next  street  is  all  of  a  blaze,  and  their  poor  destitute  fellow- 
creatures  are  turned  naked  into  the  streets.  They  '11  plow 


W1LLYUREY.  79 

right  through  a  burying  ground,  if  they  taite  a  notion,  harrow 
ing  up  dead  folks,  and  live  ones,  too,  /  guess.  And  as  to  Sun 
day  —  what  with  Jews,  and  Frenchmen,  and  down  Easters,  and 
other  foreigners,  smoking  and  driving  through  the  streets,  'tis  n't 
any  Sunday  at  all.  Well,  I  never  knew  what  Sodom  meant  till 
I  came  to  the  city.  Why  Lot's  wife  turned  round  to  take  a 
second  look  at  it,  is  beyond  me.  Well,  if  you  won't  come 
down  stairs  I  must  leave  you,  for  I  smell  my  bread  burning ; 
but  do  cheer  up  —  you  look  as  lonesome  as  a  pigeon  on  a  spout 
of  a  rainy  day." 

A  letter  from  the  best  beloved !  How  our  eye  lingers  on 
the  well-known  characters.  How  we  torture  the  words  to  ex 
tract  hidden  meanings.  How  tenderly  we  place  it  near  the  heart, 
and  under  the  pillow.  How  lingeringly  comes  the  daylight, 
when  our  waiting  eyes  would  re-peruse  what  is  already  indeli 
bly  written  on  the  heart ! 

Will's  voyage  had  been  prosperous  —  his  health  was  good — 
his  hope  and  courage  unabated.  Meta's  eye  sparkled,  and  her 
cheek  flushed  like  a  rose,  as  she  pressed  the  letter  again  and 
again  to  her  lips ;  but,  after  all,  it  was  only  a  letter,  and  time 
dragged  so  heavily.  Meta  was  weary  of  sewing,  weary  of  read 
ing,  weary  of  watching  endless  pedestrians  pass  and  repass  be 
neath  her  window,  and  when  twilight  came,  with  its  deepening 
shadows  —  that  hour  so  sweet  to  the  happy,  so  fraught  with 
gloom  to  the  wretched  —  and  Meta's  eye  fell  upon  the  little 
house  opposite,  and  saw  the  little  parlor  lamp  gleam  like  a 
beacon  light  for  the  absent  husband,  while  the  happy  wife 
glided  about  with  busy  hands,  and  lightsome  step,  and  when,  at 


80  WILLY    OBEY. 

last,  he  came,  and  the  broken  circle  was  complete,  poor  Meta 
turned  away  to  weep. 

Joy,  Meta,  joy !  dry  your  tears !  Will  has  been  suc 
cessful.  Will  is  coming  home.  Even  now  the  Sea-Gull  plows 
the  waves,  with  its  precious  living  freight.  Lucky  Will ! 
he  has  "  found  gold,"  but  it  was  dug  from  "  the  mine  "  of  the 
artist's  brain.  Magical  Will !  the  liquid  eyes  and  graceful 
limbs  of  Senor  Alvarez's  only  daughter  are  reproduced  on 
canvas,  in  all  their  glowing  beauty,  by  your  magic  touch ! 
The  Senor  is  rich  —  the  Senor  is  liberal  —  the  Senor's  taste 
is  as  unimpeachable  as  his  credit  —  the  Senor  has  pronounced 
Will  "  a  genius."  Other  Senors  hear  it ;  other  Senors  have 
gold  in  plenty,  and  dark-eyed,  graceful  daughters,  whose  charms 
Will  perpetuates,  and  yet  fails  to  see,  for  a  sweeter  face  ^vh^ch 
comes  beticeen. 

Dry  your  tears,  little  Meta  —  smooth  the  neglected  ringlets 
—  don  his  favorite  robe,  and  listen  with  a  flushed  check,  a  beat 
ing  heart  and  a  love-lit  eye,  for  the  long  absent  but  well  remem 
bered  footstep. 

Ah !  Meta,  there  are  meetings  that  o'erpay  the  pain  of  part 
ing.  But,  dear  Reader,  you  and  I  are  de  trop. 


You  should  have  seen  how  like  a  little  brigand  Will  looked, 
with  his  bronzed  face  and  fierce  beard  and  mustache — so 
fierce  that  Meta  was  half  afraid  to  jump  into  his  arms ;  you 
should  have  seen  Meta's  new  home  to  know  what  a  pretty 
Mttle  nest  love  and  taste  may  weave  for  a  cherished  bird ;  you 


WILL  V      GREY.  81 

should  have  seen  with  what  a  Midas  touch  Will's  gold  suddenly 
opened  the  eyes  of  people  to  his  wonderful  merit,  as  an  artist ; 
how  "  patrons  "  flocked  in,  now  that  he  lived  in  a  handsome 
house  in  Belgrave  Square  ;  how  Mr.  Jack  Punch  repented  with 
crocodile  tears,  that  ho  had  ever  kicked  him  out  of  "  the  Chron 
icle  office,"  and  how  Will  immortalized  him  on  canvas,  in  the 
very  act ;  not  forgetting  to  give  due  prominence,  in  the  fore 
ground,  to  the  figure  of  his  philanthropic  employer,  Mr.  John 
Howard,  who,  in  the  touching  language  of  his  Prospectus, 

always  made  it  a  point  to  "  exalt  virtue,  however  humble !  " 
6b 


TABITHA  TOMPKINS'  SOLILOQUY. 

HAVE  I,  Tabitha  Tompkins,  a  right  to  my  share  of  fresh  air 
uncontaminated  ?  or  have  I  not  1  I  ask  the  question  with  my 
arms  akimbo.  I  might  as  well  say  what  I  Ve  got  to  say,  pop 
gun  fashion,  as  to  tiptoe  round  my  subject,  mincing  and  cur- 
tesying  when  I  'm  all  ablaze  with  indignation. 

I  ask  again :  Have  I  a  right  to  my  share  of  fresh  air  uncon 
taminated  1  or  have  I  not  ? 

Do  I  go  out  for  a  walk?  Every  man  I  meet  is  a  locomo 
tive  chimney.  Smoke — smoke — smoke — smoke: — great, 
long  tails  of  it  following  in  their  wake,  while  I  dodge,  and  twist, 
and  choke,  trying  to  escape  the  coils  of  the  stifling  anaconda, 
till  I  'm  black  in  the  face.  I,  Tabitha  Tompkins,  whose  grand 
father  was  one  of  the  "  signers  "  of  the  Declaration  of  Indepen 
dence  !  I  feel  seventy-six-y  !  I  have  borne  it  about  as  long  as 
I  can  without  damage  to  hooks  and  eyes. 

If  I  try  to  escape  it,  by  getting  into  an  omnibus,  there  it  is 
again !  If  it  does  not  originate  inside,  some  "  gentleman  "  on 
the  box  or  top,  wafts  it  into  the  windows.  If  I  take  refuge  in 
a  ferry  boat,  I  find  "  gentlemen  requested  not  to  smoke,"  (as 
usual)  a  dead  letter, —  no  more  regarded  than  is  the  law  against 
gaming,  or  the  Sunday  liquor  traffic.  Do  I  go  to  a  concert  at 


'•Mr.  Sti.bbs  is  cai-iic-itly  requested  to  call  and  settle  the  alo\e  bill  at  bis 
earliest  coiiveuitucc." 


T  ABIT  HA     TOMP  KINS'      SOLILOQUY.  83 

Castle  Garden,  and  step  out  on  the  balcony  between  the  per 
formances  for  a  breath  of  fresh  air1? — myriads  of  lighted  Ha- 
vannas  send  me  dizzy  and  staggering  back  into  the  concert 
room.  Does  a  gentleman  call  to  see  me  of  an  evening? — the 
instant  he  shakes  his  "  ambrosial  curls,"  and  gives  "  a  nod,"  I 
have  to  run  for  my  vinaigrette. 

Do  I  advertise  for  lodgings ;  and  after  much  inspection  of 
rooms,  and  wear  and  tear  of  patience  and  gaiter  boots,  make  a 
final  selection  1  Do  I  emigrate  with  big  trunk,  and  little  trunk, 
and  a  whole  nest  of  bandboxes  ?  Do  I  get  my  rocking-chair, 
and  work-table,  and  writing-desk,  and  pretty  little  lamp,  all 
safely  transported  and  longitudinized  to  my  fancy  1  Do  I,  in  a 
paradisaical  state  of  mind,  (attendant  upon  said  successful  emi 
gration,)  go  to  my  closet,  some  fine  morning,  and  take  down  a 
pet  dress? — asafcetida  and  onions,  what  an  odor!  All  the 
"  pachouli "  and  "  new  mown  hay  "  in  New  York  would  n't 
sweeten  it.  Six  young  men  the  other  side  of  that  closet,  and 
all  smokers ! ! !  Betty,  you  may  have  that  dress ;  —  I  would  n't 
touch  it  with  a  pair  of  tongs. 

Do  I  lend  a  masculine  friend  my  copy  of  Alexander  Smith's 
Poems  1  —  can  I  ever  touch  it  again  till  it  has  been  through 
quarantine  1  Does  he,  by  mistake,  carry  home  my  tippet  in 
his  pocket  after  a  concert? — can  I  compute  the  hours  it  must 
hang  dangling  on  the  clothes  line,  before  it  can  be  allowed  to 
resume  its  place  round  my  neck  ? 

Do  I  go  to  church  on  Sunday,  with  a  devout  desire  to  attend 
to  the  sermon? — my  next  neighbor  is  a  young  man,  apparently 
seated  on  a  nettle  cushion :  he  groans  and  fidgets,  and  fidgets 


84  T  A  B  I  T  H  A     T  O  M  P  K  I  N  s'     SOLILOQUY 

and  groans ;  crosses  his  feet  and  uncrosses  them ;  kicks  over 
the  cricket ;  knocks  down  his  cane  ;  drops  the  hymn-book,  and 
finally  draws  from  his  coat  pocket  a  little  case  ;  takes  out  one 
segar  after  another,  transposes  them,  applies  them  to  the  end 
of  his  nose,  and  pats  them  affectionately ;  then  he  examines  his 
watch  ;  then  frowns  at  the  pulpit ;  then,  glancing  at  the  door, 
draws  a  sigh  long  enough  and  strong  enough  to  inflate  a  pair 
of  bellows,  or  burst  off  a  vest  button. 

With  a  dolorous  whine,  this  same  young  man  deplores  (in 
public)  his  inability  to  indulge  in  the  luxury  of  a  wife,  "  owing 
to  the  extravagant  habits  of  the  young  ladies  of  the  present 
day."  I  take  this  occasion  to  submit  to  public  inspection  a 
little  bit  of  paper  found  in  the  vest  pocket  of  this  fumigated, 
cork-screwed,  pantalooned  humbug,  by  his  washerwoman : 

NEW  YOKE,  October  1st,  1853. 
ME.  THADDEUS  THEOPHHATS  STUBBS, 

To  JITAJ,-  FUMIGO,  Dr. 
To  Sogars  for  Sept,  1S53. 

Sept  1— To  20  Trabucos,  at  5c.        -  -  -  -  -  $1  00 

"  To  12  Kiohondas,  at  60.  .....  75 

«      g_To  12  Los  Tres  Castillos,  at  6<L  ....  75 

"  To  12  La  Nicotiana,  at  6<L        -----  75 

"      4 — (Sunday — for  Segars  for  a  party)  10  Palmettoes,  10  Esculapios,  12 

La  Sultanos,  12  El  Crusados,  20  Norriegos,  16  L'Alhambros,  at4e.  8  20 

«      6— To  50  L' Ambrosias,  at  4c.  -  -  -  -  2  00 

"    10— To  30  Cubanos,  at  Sc,    -  -  -  -  -  -  2  40 

"    12— To  50  Londres,  at  4c.          -  -  -  -  -  2  00 

"    15 — To  30  Jenny  Linds,  (for  concert  party,)  at  Sc.  -  -  2  40 

"    24 — To  50  Fisraros,  (for  party  to  see  Uncle  Tom,  at  the  National.)  at  Sc.  4  00 
"    26 — To  100  Hencegaros,  (for  party  of  country  relations  and  friends,) 

at  2c.  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  2  00 

"    80— To  40  Imperial  Eegalias,  at  Is.  -  -  -  -  5  00 

Received  Payment, 

(Mr.  Stubbs  is  earnestly  requested  to  call  and  settle  the  aboye  at  his  earliest  con 
vonience.    J.  F.) 

Consistent  Stubbs!  But,  then,  his  segar  bill  is  not  re 
ceipted ! 


SOLILOQUY   OF  A  HOUSEMAID. 

OH,  dear,  dear  !  Wonder  if  my  mistress  ever  thinks  I  am 
made  of  flesh  and  blood  ?  Five  times,  within  half  an  hour,  I 
have  trotted  up  stairs,  to  hand  her  things,  that  were  only  four 
feet  from  her  rocking-chair.  Then,  there's  her  son,  Mr. 
George,  —  it  does  seem  to  me,  that  a  great  able-bodied  man 
like  him,  need  n't  call  a  poor  tired  woman  up  four  pair  of  stairs 
to  ask  "  what 's  the  time  of  day  1 "  Heigho  !  —  its  "  Sally  do 
this,"  and  "  Sally  do  that,"  till  I  wish  I  never  had  been  baptized 
at  all ;  and  I  might  as  well  go  farther  back,  while  I  am  about 
it,  and  wish  I  had  never  been  born. 

Now,  instead  of  ordering  me  round  so  like  a  dray  horse,  if 
they  would  only  look  up  smiling-like,  now  and  then;  or  ask  me 
how  my  "rheumatiz"did;  or  say  good  morning,  Sally ;  or  show 
some  sort  of  interest  in  a  fellow-cretur,  I  could  pluck  up  a  bit  of 
heart  to  work  for  them.  A  kind  word  would  ease  the  wheels 
of  my  treadmill  amazingly,  and  would  n't  cost  them  anything, 
either. 

Look  at  my  clothes,  all  at  sixes  and  sevens.  I  can't  get  a 
minute  to  sew  on  a  string  or  button,  except  at  night ;  and  then 
I'm  so  sleepy  it  is  as  much  as  ever  I  can  find  the  way  to  bed  ; 
and  what  a  bed  it  is,  to  be  sure  !  Why,  even  the  pigs  are  now 


86  SOLILOQUY    OF   A   HOUSE  MAID. 

and  then  allowed  clean  straw  to  sleep  on ;  and  as  to  bed-clothes, 
the  less  said  about  them  the  better ;  my  old  cloak  serves  for  a 
blanket,  and  the  sheets  are  as  thin  as  a  charity  school  soup. 
Well,  well ;  one  wouldn't  thyak  it,  to  see  all  the  fine  glittering 
things  down  in  the  drawing-room.  Master's  span  of  horses, 
and  Miss  Clara's  diamond  ear-rings,  and  mistresses  rich  dresses. 
I  try  to  think  it  is  all  right,  but  it  is  no  use. 

To-morrow  is  Sunday — "day  of  rest"  I  believe  they  call  it. 
H-u-m-p-h !  —  more  cooking  to  be  done  —  more  company  — 
more  confusion  than  on  any  other  day  in  the  week.  If  I  own 
a  soul  I  have  not  heard  how  to  take  care  of  it  for  many  a  long 
day.  Wonder  if  my  master  and  mistress  calculate  to  pay  me 
for  that,  if  I  lose  it1?  It  is  a  question  in  my  mind.  Land  of 
Goshen !  I  aint  sure  I  Ve  got  a  mind  —  there 's  the  bell  again ! 


CRITICS. 

"  Bilious  -wretches,  who  abuse  you  because  you  write  better  than  they." 

SLANDER  and  detraction !  Even  I,  Fanny,  know  better  than 
that.  /  never  knew  an  editor  to  nib  his  pen  with  a  knife  as 
sharp  as  his  temper,  and  write  a  scathing  criticism  on  a  book, 
because  the  authoress  had  declined  contributing  to  his  paper.  I 
never  knew  a  man  who  had  fitted  himself  to  a  promiscuous 
coat,  cut  out  in  merry  mood  by  taper  fingers,  to  seize  his  por 
cupine  quill,  under  the  agony  of  too  tight  a  self-inflicted  fit,  to 
annihilate  the  offender.  I  never  saw  the  bottled-up  hatred  of 
years,  concentrated  in  a  single  venomous  paragraph.  I  never 
heard  of  an  unsuccessful  masculine  author,  whose  books  were 
drugs  in  the  literary  market,  speak  with  a  sneer  of  successful 
literary  feminity,  and  insinuate  that  it  was  by  accident,  not  ge 
nius,  that  they  hit  the  popular  favor ! 

By  the  memory  of  "  seventy-six,"  No  !  Do  you  suppose 
a  man's  opinions  are  in  the  market  —  to  be  bought  and  sold 
to  the  highest  bidder  ?  Do  you  suppose  he  would  laud  a  vapid 
book,  because  the  fashionable  authoress  once  laved  his  toadying 
temples  with  the  baptism  of  upper-tendom  1  or,  do  you  sup 
pose  he'd  lash  a  poor,  but  self-reliant  wretch,  who  had  presumed 


88  CRITICS. 

to  climb  to  the  topmost  round  of  Fame's  ladder,  without  his 
royal  permission  or  assistance,  and  in  despite  of  his  repeated 
attempts  to  discourage  her1?  No  —  no — bless  your  simple 
soul ;  a  man  never  stoops  to  a  meanness.  There  never  was 
a  criticism  yet,  born  of  envy,  or  malice,  or  repulsed  love,  or 
disappointed  ambition.  No  —  no.  Thank  the  gods,  /  have 
a  more  exalted  opinion  of  masculinity. 


FORGETFUL    HUSBANDS. 

"  There  is  a  man  ont  west,  so  forgetful,  that  his  wife  has  to  put  a  wafer  on  the  end 
of  her  nose,  that  ho  may  distinguish  her  from  the  other  ladies;  but  this  does  not 
prevent  him  from  making  occasional  mistakes." 

TAKE  the  wafer  off  your  nose,  my  dear,  and  put  it  on  your 
lips!  Keep  silence  and  let  Mr.  Johnson  go  on  "making  his 
mistakes ;  " —  you  cannot  stop  him,  if  you  try  ;  and  if  he  has 
made  up  his  mind  to  be  near-sighted,  all  the  guide-boards 
that  you  can  set  up,  will  only  drive  him  home  the  longest  way 
round ! 

So  trot  your  babies,  smooth  your  ringlets,  digest  your  din 
ner,  and  —  agree  to  differ !  Do  n't  call  Mr.  Johnson  "  my  dear," 
or  he  will  have  good  reason  to  think  you  are  going  to  quarrel 
with  him  !  Look  as  pretty  as  a  poppet ;  put  on  the  dress  he 
used  to  like —  and  help  him  to  his  favorite  bit  at  table,  with 
your  accustomed  grace ;  taking  care  not  (?)  to  touch  him,  ac 
cidentally,  with  your  little  fat  hand,  when  you  are  passing  it. 
Ten  to  one  he  is  on  the  marrow  bones  of  his  soul  to  you, 
in  less  than  a  week,  though  tortures  could  n't  wring  a  confession 
out  of  him.  Then,  if  he 's  worth  the  trouble,  you  are  to  take 
advantage  of  his  silent  penitence,  and  go  every  step  of  the 
way  to  meet  him,  for  he  will  not  approximate  to  you,  the 
width  of  a  straw !  If  he  has  not  frittered  away  all  your 


90  FORGETFUL    HUSBANDS. 

love  for  him,  this  is  easily  done,  my  dear,  .and  for  one  whole 
day  after  it,  he  will  feel  grateful  to  you  for  sparing  him  the 
humiliation  (?)  of  making  an  acknowledgment.  How  many 
times,  my  dear  "Barkis,"  you  will  be  "willing"  to  go  through 
all  this,  depends  upon  several  little  circumstances  in  your 
history  with  which  I  am  unacquainted. 


SUMMER    FRIENDS. 

"  Itf  every  pain  and  care  we  feel 

Could  burn  upon  our  brow, 
How  many  hearts  would  move  to  hoal, 
That  strive  to  crush  us  now." 

DON'T  you  believe  it  ?  They  would  run  from  you,  as  if  you 
had  the  plague.  "  Write  your  brow  "  with  anything  else  but 
your  "  troubles,"  if  you  do  not  wish  to  be  left  solus.  You  have 
no  idea  how  "  good  people  "  will  pity  you  when  you  tell  your 
doleful  ditty  !  They  will  "  pray  for  you,"  give  you  advice  by 
the  bushel,  "  feel  for  you  " —  everywhere  but  in  their  pocket- 
books  ;  and  wind  up  by  telling  you  to  "  trust  in  Providence ;  " 
to  all  of  which  you  feel  very  much  like  replying  as  the  old  lady 
did  when  she  found  herself  spinning  down  hill  in  a  wagon,  "  I 
trusted  in  Providence  till  the  tackling  broke ! " 

Now,  listen  to  me ;  — just  go  to  work  and  hew  out  a  path 
for  yourself;  get  your  head  above  water,  and  then  snap  your 
fingers  in  their  pharisaical  faces !  Never  ask  a  favor  until  you 
are  drawing  your  last  breath ;  and  never  forget  one.  "  Write 
your  troubles  on  your  brow  ]  "  That  man  was  either  a  knave, 
or,  what  is  worse,  a  fool.  I  suppose  he  calls  himself  a  poet ;  if 
he  does,  all  I  have  to  say  is,  it 's  high  time  the  city  authorities 
took  away  his  "  license." 


HOW  THE  WIRES  ARE  PULLED: 

OR, 
WHAT  PRINTER'S   IXK   WILL  DO. 

"ISN'T  it  extraordinary,  Mr.  Stubbs,  how  Mr.  Simpkins  can 
always  be  dressed  in  the  last  tip-top  fashion  ?  Don't  you  and 
I,  and  all  the  world  know,  that  old  Allen  has  a  mortgage  on 
his  house,  and  that  he  never  has  a  dollar  by  him  longer  than 
five  minutes  at  a  time.  Is  n't  it  extraordinary,  Mr.  Stubbs  1  " 

"Not  at  all  —  not  at  all  —  my  dear,"  said  Mr.  Stubbs, 
knocking  the  ashes  from  his  Havana ;  "  to  an  editor  all  things 
are  possible ;"  and  he  unfolded  the  damp  sheets  of  the  Family 
Gazette,  of  which  Mr.  Simpkins  was  editor,  and  commenced 
reading  aloud  the  following  paragraph : 

"  We  yesterday  had  the  gratification  of  visiting  the  celebrated 
establishment  of  the  far-famed  Inman  &  Co.,  Hatters,  No.  172 
Wideway.  We  pronounce  their  new  style  of  spring  hat,  for 
lightness,  beauty,  and  durability,  to  be  unrivaled ;  it  is  aptly 
designated  the  'Count  D'Orsay  hat.'  The  gentlemanly  and  en 
terprising  proprietors  of  the  establishment,  are  unwearied  in 
their  endeavors  to  please  the  public.  There  is  a  je  ne  sais 
quoi  about  their  hats,  which  can  be  found  nowhere  else  in  the 
city." 


HOW  THE  WIRES  ARE  PULLED.         93 

"  Well,  I  don't  see,"  said  Mrs.  Stubbs,  "I  —  " 

"Sh  — !  sh  — !  Mrs.  Stubbs;  don't  interrupt  the  court  — 
here 's  another." 

"  Every  one  should  visit  the  extensive  ware-rooms  of  Will- 
cut  &  Co.,  Tailors,  59  Prince  Albert  street.  There  is  science 
wagging  in  the  very  tails  of  Mr.  Willcut's  coats ;  in  fact,  he  may 
be  said  to  be  the  only  tailor  in  the  city,  who  is  a  thorough  artist. 
His  pantaloons  are  the  &raee-plus-ultra  of  shear-dom.  Mr. 
Willcut  has  evidently  made  the  anatomy  of  masculinity  a 
study — hence  the  admirable  result.  The  most  casual  observer, 
on  noticing  Mr.  Willcut's  fine  phrenological  developments, 
would  at  once  negative  the  possibility  of  his  making  a  faux 
pas  on  broadcloth." 

"Keep  quiet,  Mrs.  Stubbs;  listen  :" 

"  The  St.  Lucifer  Hotel  is  a  palatial  wonder ;  whether  we 
consider  the  number  of  acres  it  covers,  the  splendor  of  its  mar 
ble  exterior,  the  sumptuousness  of  its  drawing  rooms,  or  the 
more  than  Oriental  luxuriousness  of  its  sleeping  apartments,  the 
tapestry,  mirrors  and  gilding  of  which  remind  one  forcibly  of 
the  far-famed  Tuileries.  The  host  of  the  St.  Lucifer  is  an 
Apollo  in  person,  a  Chesterfield  in  manners,  and  a  Lucullus 
in  taste ;  while  those  white-armed  Houris,  the  female  waiters,  lap 
the  soul  in  Elysium." 

Mr.  Stubbs  lifted  his  spectacles  to  his  forehead,  crossed  his 
legs,  and  nodded  knowingly  to  Mrs.  Stubbs. 

"  That 's  the  way  it 's  done,  Mrs.  Stubbs.  That  last  notice 
paid  his  six  months'  hotel  bill  at  the  St.  Lucifer,  including  wine, 
cigars,  and  other  little  editorial  perquisites.  Do  you  want  to 


94  HOWTHEWIRESAREPULLED. 

know,"  said  Stubbs,  (resuming  the  paper, )"ho\v  he  gets  his  car 
riages  repaired  and  his  horses  shod  for  nothing  in  the  village 
where  his  country  seat  is  located  1  This,  now,  is  a  regular  stroke 
of  genius.  He  does  it  by  two  words.  In  an  account  of  his 
visit  to  the  Sybil's  Cave,  in  which  he  says,  'Mr  FRIEND,  the 
blacksmith,  and  I  soon  found  the  spot,'  &c.,  (bah  !)  Then  here 
is  something  that  will  interest  you,  my  dear,  on  the  other  page 
of  the  Gazette.  Mr.  Simpkins  has  used  up  the  dictionary  in  a 
half-column  announcement  of  Miss  Taffety  (the  milliner's)  'mag 
nificent  opening  at street.'  (Of  course  she  made  his  wife 

a  present  of  a  new  Paris  bonnet.") 

"  Well,  I  never  — "  said  the  simple  Mrs.  Stubbs.  "  Good 
ness  knows,  if  I  had  known  all  this  before,  I  would  have  mar 
ried  an  editor  myself.  Stubbs,  why  don't  you  set  up  a  news 
paper1?" 

"  M-r-s.  S-t-u-b-b-s ! "  said  her  husband,  in  an  oracular  tone, 
"  to  conduct  a  newspaper  requires  a  degree  of  tact,  enterprise 
and  ability  to  which  Jotham  Stubbs  unfortunately  is  a  stranger. 
The  Family  Gazette  or  its  founder  is  by  no  means  a  fair  sample 
of  our  honorable  newspapers,  and  their  upright,  intelligent,  and 
respected  editors.  Great  Caesar  !  —  no !  "  said  Stubbs,  rising 
from  his  chair,  and  bringing  his  hand  down  emphatically  on  his 
corduroys,  "  no  more  than  you  are  a  fair  sample  of  feminine 
beauty,  Mrs.  Stubbs!" 


WHO  WOULD   BE   THE  LAST  MAN? 

"  Fanny  Fern  says,  '  If  there  were  but  one  woman  in  the  world,  the  men  would 
have  a  terrible  time.'  Fanny  is  right;  but  we  would  ask  her  what  kind  of  a  time 
the  women  would  have  if  there  were  but  one  man  in  existence  ?  " 

WHAT  kind  of  a  time  would  they  have  1  Why,  of  course 
no  grass  would  grow  under  their  slippers !  The  "  Wars  of 
the  Roses,"  the  battles  of  Waterloo  and  Bunker  Hill  would 
be  a  farce  to  it.  Black  eyes  would  be  the  rage,  and  both  caps 
and  characters  would  be  torn  to  tatters.  I  imagine  it  would 
not  be  much  of  a  millennium,  either,  to  the  moving  cause  of 
the  disturbance.  He  would  be  as  crazy  as  a  fly  in  a  drum,  or 
as  dizzy  as  a  bee  in  a  ten-acre  lot  of  honeysuckles,  uncertain 
where  to  alight.  He  'd  roll  his  bewildered  eyes  from  one  ex 
quisite  organization  to  another,  and  frantically  and  diplomati 
cally  exclaim  —  "  How  happy  could  I  be  with  either,  were 
t'other  dear  charmer  away  ! " 

"  What  kind  of  a  time  would  the  women  have,  were  there 
only  one  man  in  the  world  1 " 

WThat  kind  of  a  time  would  they  have  ?  What  is  that  to 
me?  They  might  "  take  their  own  time,"  every  "Miss  Lucy" 
of  them,  for  all  /  should  care ;  and  so  might  the  said  man  him 
self;  for  with  me,  the  limited  supply  would  not  increase  the 
value  of  the  article. 


"ONLY  A  COUSIN." 

How  the  rain  patters  against  the  windows  of  your  office  ! 
Hovv  sombre,  'and  gloomy,  and  cheerless,  it  looks  there !  Your 
little  office-boy  looks  more  like  an  imp  of  darkness  than  any 
thing  else,  as  he  sits  crouched  in  the  corner,  with  his  elbows  on 
his  knees  and  his  chin  in  his  hands. 

You  button  your  overcoat  tight  to  your  chin,  (cut  possible 
clients,)  and  run  over  to  see  your  cousin  Kitty.  Ah!  that 
is  worth  while !  A  bright,  blazing  fire ;  sofa  wheeled  up  to  it, 
and  Kitty  sitting  there,  looking  so  charming  in  her  pretty  neg 
lige.  She  looks  up  sweetly  and  tranquilly,  and  says :  "  Now 
that's  a  good  Harry ;  sit  down  by  me,  and  be  agreeable." 

Well,  you  " sit  down,"  (just  as  close  as  you  like,  too !)  tell 
her  all  the  down-town  male  gossip ;  consult  her  confidentially 
about  trimming  your  whiskers  ;  and  desire  her  candid,  unbi 
ased  opinion  about  the  propriety  and  feasibility,  with  the  help 
of  some  Macassar,  of  coaxing  out  a  moustache !  Then  you 
make  a  foray  into  her  work-basket,  tangling  spools  most  un 
mercifully,  and  reading  over  all  the  choice  bits  of  poetry  that 
women  are  so  fond  of  clipping  from  the  newspapers.  Then 
you  both  go  into  the  china  closet,  and  she  gets  you  a  tempting 
little  luncheon ;  and  you  grow  suddenly  merry,  and  have  a 


"ONLY      A      COUSIN  ."  i>7 

contest  which  shall  make  the  worst  pun;  you  earn  for  yourself 
a  boxed  ear,  and  are  obliged,  in  self-defence,  to  imprison  the 
offending  hand  ;  your  aunt  comes  in ;  let  her  come !  are  not 
you  and  Kitty  cousins  ? 

There's  a  ring  at  the  door,  and  Mr.  Frank is  an 
nounced.  You  say,  "  Unmitigated  puppy  ! "  and  begin  a  ve 
hement  discussion  with  your  aunt,  about  anything  that  comes 
handy ;  but  that  don't  prevent  you  from  seeing  and  hearing  all 
that  goes  on  at  the  other  side  of  the  room.  Your  aunt  is  very 
oblivious,  and  wouldn't  mind  it  if  you  occasionally  lost  the 
thread  of  your  discourse.  Kitty  is  the  least  bit  of  a  coquette  ! 
and  her  conversation  is  very  provocative,  racy  and  sparkling  ; 
you  privately  determine  to  read  her  a  lecture  upon  it,  as 
soon  as  practicable. 

It  seems  as  though  Mr.  Frank never  would  go.  Upon 

his  exit,  Kitty  informs  you  that  she  is  going  to  Madame 

's  concert  with  him.  You  look  serious,  and  tell  her  you 

"  should  be  very  sorry  to  see  a  cousin  of  yours  enter  a  con 
cert  room  with  such  a  brainless  fop."  Kitty  tosses  her  curls, 
pats  you  on  the  arm,  and  says,  "Jealous,  hey  ?  "  You  turn  on 
your  heel,  and,  lighting  a  cigar,  bid  her  "  good-morning,"  and 
for  a  little  eternity  of  a  week  you  never  go  near  her.  Mean 
time,  your  gentlemen  friends  tell  you  how  "  divine "  your 
little  cousin  looked  at  the  concert. 

You  are  in  a  very  bad  humor  ;  cigars  are  no  sedative  —  news 
papers  either.  You  crowd  your  beaver  down  over  your  eyes 
and  start  for  your  office.  On  the  way  you  meet  Kitty  !  Hebe ! 

how  bright  and  fresh  she  looks !  and  what  an  unmitigated  brute 
7b  E 


98  "ONLY    A    COUSIN." 

you  've  been  to  treat  her  so !  Take  care !  she  knows  what 
you  are  thinking  about !  Women  are  omniscient  in  such  mat 
ters  !  So  she  peeps  archly  from  beneath  those  long  eyelashes, 
and  says,  extending  the  tip  of  her  little  gloved  hand — "Want 
to  make  up,  Harry  1 " 

There 's  no  resisting  !  That  smile  leads  you,  like  a  will-o' 
the-wisp,  anywhere !  So  you  wait  upon  her  home ;  nobody 
comes  in,  not  even  your  respected  aunt ;  and  you  never  call 
her  "  cousin,"  after  that  day ;  but  no  man  living  ever  won  such 
a  darling  little  wife,  as  Kitty  has  promised  to  be  to  you,  some 
bright  morning. 


THE  CALM   OF   DEATH. 

"  The  moon  looks  calmly  down  when  man  is  dying, 

The  earth  still  holds  her  sway  ; 

Flowers  breathe  their  perfume,  and  the  wind  keeps  sighing; 
Naught  seems  to  pause  or  stay." 

CLASP  the  hands  meekly  over  the  still  breast  —  they  've  no 
more  work  to  do ;  close  the  weary  eyes — they  Ve  no  more  tears 
to  shed  ;  part  the  damp  locks  —  there 's  no  more  pain  to  bear. 
Closed  is  the  ear  alike  to  Love's  kind"  voice,  and  Calumny's 
stinging  whisper. 

Oh !  if  in  that  stilled  heart  you  have  ruthlessly  planted  a 
thorn  ;  if  from  that  pleading  eye  you  have  carelessly  turned 
away  ;  if  your  loving  glance,  and  kindly  word,  and  clasping 
hand,  have  come  —  all  too  late  —  then  God  forgive  you!  No 
frown  gathers  on  the  marble  brow  as  you  gaze  —  no  scorn 
curls  the  chiselled  lip  —  no  flush  of  wounded  feeling  mounts  to 
the  blue-veined  temples. 

God  forgive  you !  for  your  feet,  too,  must  shrink  appalled 
from  death's  cold  river  —  your  faltering  tongue  ask,  "  Can  this 
be  death  1 "  —  your  fading  eye  linger  lovingly  on  the  sunny 
earth  —  your  clammy  hand  yield  its  last  faint  pressure  —  your 
sinking  pulse  give  its  last  feeble  flutter. 

Oh,  rapacious  grave ;  yet  another  victim  for  thy  voiceless 


100  THE     CALM     OF     DEATH. 

keeping  !  What !  no  word  or  greeting  from  all  thy  household 
sleepers  1  No  warm  welcome  from  a  sister's  loving  lips  ?  No 
throb  of  pleasure  from  the  dear  maternal  bosom  1 

Silent  all! 

Oh,  if  these  broken  links  were  never  gathered  up !  If  be 
yond  Death's  swelling  flood  there  were  no  eternal  shore !  If 
for  the  struggling  bark  there  were  no  port  of  peace  !  If 
athwart  that  lowering  cloud  sprang  no  bright  bow  of  promise ! 

Alas  for  Love,  if  this  be  all, 
And  naught  beyond  —  oh  earth! 


"Don't  be  disagreeable,  Smith,  1  "in  jut>t  getting  iiispiredl ' 


MRS.   ADOLPHUS    SMITH    SPORTING 
THE    "BLUE    STOCKING." 

"Well,  I  think  I'll  finish  that  story  for  the  editor  of  the 
"Dutchman."  Let  me  see;  where  did  I  leave  off?  The  setting 
sun  was  just  gilding  with  his  last  ray — "  Ma,  I  want  some 
bread  and  molassess  " —  (yes,  dear,)  gilding  with  his  last  ray 
the  church  spire  — "  Wife,  where's  my  Sunday  pants  1 "  (  Un 
der  the  bed,  dear,)  the  church  spire  of  Inverness,  when  a — 
"  There's  nothing  under  the  bed,  dear,  but  your  lace  cap  " — 
(Perhaps  they  are  in  the  coal  hod  in  the  closet.)  when  a  horse 
man  was  seen  approaching — "Ma'am,  the  pertators  is  out; 
not  one  for  dinner  " —  (Take  some  turnips,)  approaching,  cov 
ered  with  dust,  and  — "  Wife !  the  baby  has  swallowed  a  but 
ton  " —  (Reverse  him,  dear  —  take  him  by  the  heels,)  and  wav 
ing  in  his  hand  a  banner,  on  which  was  written  — "  Ma  !  I  've 
torn  my  pantaloons" — liberty  or  death!  The  inhabitants 
rushed  en  masse  — "Wife !  WILL  you  leave  off  scribbling  1 
(Don't  be  disagreeable,  Smith,  I'm  just  getting  inspired,)  to 
the  public  square,  where  De  Begnis,  who  had  been  secretly — 
"  Butcher  wants  to  see  you,  ma'am  " — secretly  informed  of  the 
traitors' — "  Forgot  which  you  said,  ma'am,  sausages  or  mutton 
chop  " —  movements,  gave  orders  to  fire ;  not  less  than  twenty 


102  MRS.    ADOLPHUS    SMITH. 

• "  My  gracious  !    Smith,  you  have  n't  been  reversing  that 

child  all  this  time  ;  he's  as  black  as  your  coat;  and  that  boy 
of  YOURS  has  torn  up  the  first  sheet  of  my  manuscript.  There  ! 
it's  no  use  for  a  married  woman  to  cultivate  her  intellect. 
Smith,  hand  me  those  twins. 


CECILE  VRAY. 

"  Died,  in ,  Cecile,  wife  of  Mortimer  Vray,  artist    This  lady  died  in  great 

destitution,  among  strangers,  and  was  frequently  heard  to  say, '  I  wish  I  were  dead !' ' 

A  BRIEF  paragraph,  to  chronicle  a  broken  heart !  Poor  Co 
cile  !  We  little  thought  of  this,  when  conning  our  French  tasks, 
your  long  raven  ringlets  twining  lovingly  with  mine  ;  or,  when 
released  from  school  drudgery,  we  sauntered  through  the  fra 
grant  woods,  weaving  rosy  dreams  of  a  bright  future,  which 
neither  you  nor  I  were  to  see. 

I  feel  again  your  warm  breath  upon  my  cheek  —  the,  clasp 
of  your  clinging  arms  about  my  neck ;  and  the  whispered 
"  Don't  forget  me,  Fanny,"  from  that  most  musical  of  voices. 

Time  rolled  on,  and  oceans  rolled  between  :  then  came  a  ru 
mor  of  an  "  artist  lover  "  —  then  a  "  bridal  "  —  now  the  sad 
sequel ! 

Poor  Cecile  !  Those  dark  eyes  restlessly  and  vainly  look 
ing  for  some  familiar  face  on  which  to  rest,  ere  they  closed 
forever ;  that  listening  ear,  tortured  by  strange  footsteps — that 
fluttering  sigh,  breathed  out  on  a  strange  bosom.  Poor  Cecile  ! 

And  he  (shame  to  tell)  who  won  that  loving  heart  but  to 
trample  it  under  foot,  basks  under  Italy's  sunny  skies,  bound  in 
flowery  fetters,  of  a  foreign  syren's  weaving 


104  CECILE     VRAY. 

God  rest  thee,  Cecile  !  Death  never  chilled  a  warmer  heart ; 
earth  never  pillowed  a  lovelier  head  ;  Heaven  ne'er  welcomed 
a  sweeter  spirit. 


On  foreign  shores,  from  broken  dreams,  a  guilty  man  shall 
start,  as  thy  last  sad,  plaintive  wail  rings  in  his  tortured  ear, 
"  Would  I  were  dead  ?  " 


SAM  SMITH'S  SOLILOQUY. 

BY  the  beard  of  the  Prophet !  what  a  thing  it  is  to  be  a 
bachelor  !  I  wonder  when  this  table  was  dusted  last !  I  won 
der  how  long  since  that  mattress  was  turned,  or  that  carpet 
swept,  or  what  was  the  primeval  color  of  that  ewer  and  wash 
basin. 

Christopher  Columbus  !  how  the  frost  curtains  the  windows  : 
how  dirge-like  the  wind  moans :  how  like  a  great,  white  pall 
the  snow  covers  the  ground.  Five  times  I  'vc  rung  that  bell 
for  coal,  for  this  rickety  old  grate,  but  I  might  as  well  thump 
for  admittance  at  the  gate  of  Paradise. 

And  speaking  of  Paradise  —  Sam  Smith,  you  must  be  mar 
ried  :  you  have  n't  a  button  to  your  shirt,  nor  a  shirt  to  your 
buttons  either. 

Wonder  if  women  are  such  obstinate  little  monkeys  to  man 
age  1  Wonder  if  they  must  be  bribed  with  a  new  bonnet 
every  day,  to  keep  the  peace  ?  Wonder  if  you  bring  home  a 
friend  unexpectedly  to  dinner,  if  they  always  take  to  their  bed 
with  the  sick  headache  1  Wish  there  was  any  way  of  finding 
out,  but  by  experience.  Well,  Sam,  you  are  a  Napoleonic 
looking  fellow  :  if  you  can't  manage  a  woman,  who  can  1 

How  I  shall  pet  the  little  clipper.     I  '11  marry  a  blue-eyed 


106  SAM  SMITH'S  SOLILOQUY. 

woman :  they  are  the  most  affectionate.  She  must  not  be  too 
tall :  a  man's  wife  should  n't  look  down  upon  him.  She  must 
not  know  too  much :  the  Furies  take  your  pert,  catamount-y, 
scribbling  women,  with  a  repartee  always  rolled  up  under 
their  tongues.  She  must  n't  be  over  seventeen  :  but  how  to 
find  that  out,  Sam,  is  the  question :  it  is  about  as  easy  as  to 
make  an  editor  tell  you  the  truth  about  his  subscription  list. 
She  must  be  handsome  —  no  she  mustn't  either.  I  should  be 
as  jealous  as  Blue  Beard.  All  the  corkscrew,  pantalooned,  per 
fumed  popinjays  would  be  ogling  her.  But  then,  again,  there's 
three  hundred  and  sixty-five  days  in  a  year,  and  three  times  a 
day  I  must  sit  opposite  that  connubial  face,  at  the  table.  What's 
to  be  done  1  Yes ;  she  must  be  handsome  :  that  is  as  certain 
as  that  Louis  Napoleon  has  a  Jewish  horror  of  Ham. 

Wonder  if  wives  are  expensive  articles  1  Wonder  if  their 
"  little  hands  were  ever  made  to  scratch  out  husbands'  eyes  1 " 
Wonder  if  Caudle  lectures  are  "  all  in  your  eye,"  or  —  occa 
sionally  in  your  ear  ?  Wonder  if  babies  invariably  prefer  the 
night-time  to  cry  ? 

To  marry  or  not  to  marry,  Sam  1  Whether  't  is  better  to 
go  buttonless,  and  to  shiver,  or  marry  and  be  always  in  hot 
water  1 

There  's  Tom  Hillot.  Tom  's  married.  I  was  his  grooms 
man.  I  would  have  given-  a  small  fortune  to  have  been  in  his 
white  satin  vest  —  what  with  the  music,  and  the  roses,  and  the 
pretty  little  bridesmaid  !  Did  n't  the  bride  look  bewitching, 
with  the  rose-flush  on  her  cheek  and  the  tear  on  her  eyelash  ? 
And  how  provokingly  happy  Tom  looked,  when  he  whirled  off 


SAM  SMITH'S  SOLILOQUY.  107 

with  her  in  the  carriage  to  their  new  home  ;  and  what  a  pretty 
little  home  it  was,  to  be  sure.  It  is  just  a  year  to-day  since 
they  were  married.  I  dined  there  yesterday.  It  strikes  me 
that  Tom  don't  joke  as  much  as  he  used  in  his  bachelor  days  ; 
and  then  he  has  a  way,  too,  of  leaving  his  sentences  unfinished. 
And  I  noticed  that  his  wife  often  touched  his  foot  with  her 
slipper  under  the  table.  What  do  you  suppose  she  did  that 
for  ?  Just  as  I  was  buttoning  up  my  coat  to  come  away,  I 
asked  Tom  if  he  would  go  to  up  Tammany  Hall  with  me. 
He  looked  at  his  wife,  and  she  said,  "  Oh  —  go  by  all  means, 
Mr.  Hillot ; "  when  Tom  immediately  declined.  I  don't  un 
derstand  matrimonial  tactics ;  but  it  seems  to  me  he  ought  to 
have  obliged  her. 

Do  you  know  John  Jones  and  his  wife?  (peculiar  name 
that, — "Jones!")  Well,  they  are  another  happy  couple.  It 
is  enough  to  make  bachelor  eyes  turn  green  to  see  them. 
Mrs.  Jones  had  been  four  times  a  widow,  when  she  married 
John.  She  knows  the  value  of  husbands.  She  takes  precious 
good  care  of  John.  Before  he  goes  to  the  office  in  the  morn 
ing,  she  pops  her  head  out  the  window  to  see  if  the  weather 
cock  indicates  a  surtout,  spencer,  cloak,  or  Tom  and  Jerry  ;  this 
point  settled,  she  follows  him  to  the  door,  and  calls  him  back 
to  close  his  thorax  button  "  for  fear  of  quinsy."  Does  a  shower 
come  up  in  the  forenoon  ?  She  sends  him  clogs,  India-rubbers, 
an  extra  flannel  shirt,  and  an  oilcloth  overall,  and  prepares  two 
quarts  of  boiling  ginger  tea  to  administer  on  his  arrival,  to  pre 
vent  the  damp  from  "  striking  in."  If  he  helps  himself  to  a  second 
bit  of  turkey,  she  immediately  removes  it  from  his  plate,  and 


108  SAM  SMITH'S  SOLILOQUY. 

applying  a  pocket  handkerchief  to  her  eyes,  asks  him  "  it  he 
has  the  heart  to  make  her  for  the  fifth  time  a  widow  1 "  You 
can  see,  with  half  an  eye,  that  John  must  be  the  happiest  dog 
alive.  I  'd  like  to  see  the  miscreant  who  dares  to  say  he  is 
not! 

Certainly  —  matrimony  is  an  invention  of .  Well,  no 

matter  who  invented  it.  I  'm  going  to  try  it.  Where 's  my 
blue  coat  with  the  bright,  brass  buttons  1  The  woman  has  yet 
to  be  born  who  can  resist  that ;  and  my  buff  vest  and  neck-tie, 
too  :  may  I  be  shot  if  I  don't  offer  them  both  to  the  little  Wid 
ow  Pardiggle  this  very  night.  "Pardiggle ! "  Phoebus!  what  a 
name  for  such  a  rose-bud.  I  '11  re-christen  her  by  the  euphonious 
name  of  Smith.  She'll  have  me,  of  course.  She  wants  a  hus 
band — I  want  a  wife  :  there 's  one  point  already  in  which  we 
perfectly  agree.  I  hate  preliminaries.  I  suppose  it  is  unneces 
sary  for  me  to  begin  with  the  amatory  alphabet.  With  a 
widow,  I  suppose  you  can  skip  the  rudiments.  Say  what  you  Ve 
got  to  say  in  a  fraction  of  a  second.  Women  grow  as  mis 
chievous  as  Satan  if  they  think  you  are  afraid  of  them.  Do  1 
look  as  if  /  were  afraid  1  Just  examine  the  growth  of  my 
whiskers.  The  Bearded  Lady  could  n't  hold  a  candle  to  them, 
(though  I  wonder  she  don't  to  her  own.)  Afraid  ?  h-m-m  !  I 
feel  as  if  I  could  conquer  Asia.  What  the  mischief  ails  this 
cravat  1  It  must  be  the  cold  that  makes  my  hand  tremble  so : 
there — that '11  do:  that's  quite  an  inspiration.  Brummel him 
self  could  n't  go  beyond  that.  Now  for  the  widow ;  bless  her 
little  round  face !  I  'm  immensely  obliged  to  old  Pardiggle 
for  giving  her  a  quit  claim.  I  '11  make  her  as  happy  as  a  little 


SAM  SMITH'S  SOLILOQUY.  109 

robin.  Do  you  think  I  'd  bring  a  tear  into  her  lovely  blue 
eye  ?  Do  you  think  I  'd  sit  after  tea,  with  my  back  to  her, 
and  my  feet  upon  the  mantel,  staring  up  chimney  for  three 
hours  together  1  Do  you  think  I  'd  leave  her  blessed  little 
side,  to  dangle  round  oyster-saloons  and  theatres  1  Do  I  look 
like  a  man  to  let  a  woman  flatten  her  pretty  little  nose  against 
the  window-pane  night  after  night,  trying  to  see  me  reel  up 
street  1  No.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Adam  were  not  more  beautified 
in  their  nuptial-bower,  than  I  shall  be  with  the  Widow 
Pardiggle. 


.Refused  by  a  widow  !  Who  ever  heard  of  such  a  thing  1 
Well ;  there  's  one  comfort :  nobody '11  ever  believe  it.  She  is 
not  so  very  pretty  after  all :  her  eyes  are  too  small,  and  her 
hands  are  rough  and  red-dy :  —  not  so  very  ready  either, 
confound  the  gipsy.  What  amazing  pretty  shoulders  she  has  ! 
Well,  who  cares  1 

"  If  she  be  not  fair  for  me, 
What  care  I  how  fair  she  be  ?  " 

Ten  to  one,  she  'd  have  set  up  that  wretch  of  a  Pardiggle  for 
my  model.  Who  wants  to  be  Pardiggle  2nd  1  I  am  glad 
she  did  n't  have  me.  I  mean — I  'm  glad  I  did  n't  have  her  !• 


LOVE   AND   DUTY. 

THE  moon  looked  down  upon  no  fairer  sight  than  Effie  May, 
as  she  lay  sleeping  on  her  little  couch,  that  fair  summer  night. 
So  thought  her  mother,  as  she  glided  gently  in,  to  give  her  a 
silent,  good-night  blessing.  The  bright  flush  of  youth,  and 
hope  was  on  her  cheek.  Her  long  dark  hair  lay  in  masses 
about  her  neck  and  shoulders;  a  smile  played  upon  the 
red  lips,  and  the  mother  bent  low  to  catch  the  indistinct 
murmur.  She  starts,  at  the  whispered  name,  as  if  a  serpent 
had  stung  her ;  and  as  the  little  snowy  hand  is  tossed  restlessly 
upon  the  coverlid,  she  sees,  glittering  in  the  moonbeams,  on 
that  childish  finger,  the  golden  signet  of  betrothal.  Sleep 
sought  in  vain  to  woo  the  eyes  of  the  mother  that  night.  Re 
proachfully  she  asked  herself,  "  How  could  I  have  been  so 
blind  1  (but  then  Effie  has  seemed  to  me  only  a  child !)  But 
he !  oh,  no  ;  the  wine-cup  will  be  my  child's  rival ;  it  must  not 
be."  Effie  was  wilful,  and  Mrs.  May  knew  she  must  be  cau 
tiously  dealt  with ;  but  she  knew,  also,  that  no  mother  need 
despair,  who  possesses  the  affection  of  her  child. 

Effie's  violet  eyes  opened  to  greet  the  first  ray  of  the  morn 
ing  sun,  as  he  peeped  into  her  room.  She  stood  at  the  little 
mirror,  gathering  up,  with  those  small  hands,  the  rich  tresses 


LOVE     AND     DUTY.  Ill 

so  impatient  of  confinement.  How  could  she  fail  to  know  that 
she  was  fair  1  —  she  read  it  in  every  face  she  met ;  but  there 
was  one  (and  she  was  hastening  to  meet  him)  whose  eye  had 
noted,  with  a  lover's  pride,  every  shining  ringlet,  and  azure  vein, 
and  flitting  blush  ;  his  words  were  soft  and  low,  and  skillfully 
chosen,  and  sweeter  than  music  to  her  ear ;  and  so  she  tied, 
with  a  careless  grace,  the  little  straw  hat  under  her  dimpled 
chin  ;  and  fresh,  and  sweet,  and  guileless,  as  the  daisy  that  bent 
beneath  her  foot,  she  tripped  lightly  on  to  the  old  trysting  place 
by  the  willows. 

Stay  !  a  hand  is  laid  lightly  upon  her  arm,  and  the  pleading 
voice  of  a  mother  arrests  that  springing  step. 

"  Effie  dear,  sit  down  with  me  on  this  old  garden  seat ;  give 
up  your  walk  for  this  morning ;  I  slept  but  indifferently  last 
night,  and  morning  finds  me  languid  and  depressed." 

A  shadow  passed  overEffie's  face;  the  little  cherry  lips  pouted, 
and  a  rebellious  feeling  was  busy  at  her  heart ;  but  one  look  in 
her  mother's  pale  face  decided  her,  and,  untying  the  strings  of 
her  hat,  she  leaned  her  head  caressingly  upon  her  mother's 
shoulder. 

"You  are  ill,  dear  mother;  you  are  troubled;"  and  she 
looked  inquiringly  up  into  her  face. 

"  Listen  to  me,  Effie,  I  have  a  story  to  tell  you  of  myself: 
When  I  was  about  your  age,  I  formed  an  acquaintance  with  a 
youngman,by  thename  of  Adolph.  He  had  been  buta  short  time 
in  the  village,  but  long  enough  to  win  the  hearts  of  half  the 
young  girls,  from  their  rustic  admirers.  Handsome,  frank  and 
social,  he  found  himself  everywhere  a  favorite.  He  would  sit 


.112         •  LOVE     AND     DUTY. 

by  me  for  hours,  reading  our  favorite  authors ;  and  side  by 
side,  we  rambled  through  all  the  lovely  paths  with  which  our  vil 
lage  abounded.  My  parents  knew  nothing  to  his  disadvantage, 
and  were  equally  charmed  as  myself  with  his  cultivated  refine 
ment  of  manner,  and  the  indefinable  interest  with  which  he 
invested  every  topic,  grave  or  gay,  which  it  suited  his  mood  to 
discuss.  Before  I  knew  it,  my  heart  was  no  longer  in  my  own 
keeping.  One  afternoon,  he  called  to  accompany  me  upon  a 
little  excursion,  we  had  planned  together.  As  he  came  up  the 
gravel  walk,  I  noticed  that  his  fine  hair  was  in  disorder :  a 
pang,  keen  as  death,  shot  through  my  heart,  when  he  approached 
me,  with  reeling,  unsteady  step,  and  stammering  tongue.  I 
could  not  speak.  The  chill  of  death  gathered  round  my  heart. 
I  fainted.  When  I  recovered,  he  was  gone,  and  my  mother's 
face  was  bending  over  me,  moist  with  tears.  Her  woman's 
heart  knew  all  that  was  passing  in  mine.  She  pressed  her  lips 
to  my  forehead,  and  only  said,  '  God  strengthen  you  to  choose 
the  right,  my  child.' 

"  I  could  not  look  upon  her  sorrowful  eyes,  or  the  pleading 
face  of  my  gray-haired  father,  and  trust  myself  again  to  the 
witchery  of  _  that  roice  and  smile.  A  letter  came  to  me  ;  I 
dared  not  read  it.  (Alas !  my  heart  pleaded  too  eloquently, 
even  then,  for  his  return.)  I  returned  it  unopened ;  my  father 
and  mother  devoted  themselves  to  lighten  the  load  that  lay 
upon  my  heart ;  but  the  perfume  of  a  flower,  a  remembered 
strain  of  music,  a  struggling  moonbeam,  would  bring  back  old 
memories,  with  a  crushing  bitterness  that  swept  all  before  it  for 
the  moment.  But  my  father's  aged  hand  lingered  on  my  head 


L  0  V  E    A  >*  D    D  U  T  Y  .  113 

with  a  blessing,  and  my  mother's  voice  had  the  sweetness  of 
an  angel's,  as  it  fell  upon  my  ear! 

"  Time  passed  on,  and  I  had  conquered  myself.  Your  father 
saw  me,  and  proposed  for  my  hand  ;  my  parents  left  me  free 
to  choose,  and  Effie  dear,  are  we  not  happy?'''' 

"  Oh,  mother,"  said  Effie,  (then  looking  sorrowfully  in  her 
face,)  "did  you  never  see  Adolph  again  ?  " 

"  Do  you  remember,  my  child,  the  summer  evening  we  sat 
upon  the  piazza,  when  a  dusty,  travel-stained  man  came  up  the 
steps,  and  begged  for  '  a  supper  1 '  Do  you  recollect  his  bloated, 
disfigured  face?  Effie,  that  ivas  Adolph!" 

"  Not  that  wreck  of  a  man,  mother  ?  "  said  Effie,  (covering 
her  eyes  with  her  hands,  as  if  to  shut  him  out  from  her  sight.) 

"  Yes  ;  that  was  all  that  remained  of  that  glorious  intellect, 
and  that  form  made  after  God's  own  image.  I  looked  around 
upon  my  happy  home,  then  upon  your  noble  father  —  then  — 
upon  him,  and,"  (taking  Effie's  little  hand  and  pointing  to  the 
ring  that  encircled  it,)  "  in  your  ear,  my  daughter,  I  now  breathe 
my  mother's  prayer  for  me — '  God  help  you  to  choose  the 
right  \'" 

The  bright  head  of  Effie  sank  upon  her  mother's  breast,  and 
Avith  a  gush  of  tears  she  drew  the  golden  circlet  from  her  fin 
ger,  and  placed  it  in  her  mother's  hand. 

"  God  bless  yon,  my  child,"  said  the  happy  mother,  as  she 
led  her  back  to  their  quiet  home. 
8b 


A    FALSE    PROVERB. 

I  WONDER  who  but  the  "  father  of  lies,"  originated  this  prov 
erb,  "  Help  yourself  and  then  everybody  else  will  help  you." 
Is  it  not  as  true  as  the  book  of  Job  that  it 's  just  driving  the 
nails  into  your  own  coffin,  to  let  anybody  know  you  want  help ! 
Is  not  a  "  seedy  "  hat,  a  threadbare  coat,  or  patched  dress,  an 
effectual  shower-bath  on  old  friendships'?  Have  not  people  a 
mortal  horror  of  a  sad  face  and  a  pitiful  story  ?  Don't  they  on 
hearing  it,  instinctively  poke  their  purses  into  the  farthest,  most 
remote  corner  of  their  pockets  1  Don't  they  rap  their  warm 
garments  round  their  well-fed  persons,  and  advise  you,  in  a 
saintly  tone,  "  to  trust  in  Providence  ?  "  Are  they  not  always 
"  engaged  "  ever  after,  when  you  call  to  see  them  ?  Are  they 
not  near-sighted  when  you  meet  them  in  the  street  ? — and  don't 
they  turn  short  corners  to  get  out  of  your  way  ?  "Help  your 
self," — of  course  you  will,  (if  you  have  any  spirit ;) — but  when 
sickness  comes,  or  dark  days,  and  your  wits  and  nerves  are 
both  exhausted,  don't  place  any  dependence  on  this  lying  prov 
erb  !  —  or  you  will  find  yourself  decidedly  humbugged.  And 
then,  when  your  heart  is  so  soft  that  anybody  could  knock  you 
down  with  a  feather,  get  into  the  darkest  hole  you  can  find,  and 
cry  it  out!  Thei  Tav?}  out,  ^athe  your  eyes  till  they  shine 


A    FALSE    PROVERB.  115 

again,  and  if  you  have  one  nice  garment  left,  out  with  it.  put  it 
on !  tum  your  shawl  on  the  brightest  side ;  put  your  best  and 
prettiest  foot  foremost ;  tie  on  your  go-to-meetin'  bonnet,  and 
smile  under  it,  if  it  half  kills  you ;  and  see  how  complaisant 
the  world  will  be  when  —  you  ask  nothing  of  it ! 

But  if  (as  there  are  exceptions  to  all  rules,)  you  should  chance 
to  stumble  upon  a  true  friend  (when  you  can  only  render  thanks 
as  an  equivalent  for  kindness)  "  make  a  note  on't,"  as  "  Captain 
Cuttle  "  says,  for  it  don't  happen  but  once  in  a  life-time ! 


A  MODEL   HUSBAND. 

"  Mrs.  Perry,  a  young  Bloomer,  has  eloped  from  Monson,  Massachusetts,  with 
Levins  Clough.  When  her  husband  found  she  was  determined  to  go,  ho  gave  her 
one  hundred  dollars  to  start  with." 

MAGNANIMOUS  Perry  !  Had  I  been  your  spouse,  I  should 
have  handed  that  "  one  hundred  dollar  bill "  to  Mr.  Levins 
Clough,  as  a  healing  plaster  for  his  disappointed  affections  —  en 
circled  your  neck  with  my  repentant  arms,  and  returned  to  your 
home.  Then,  I  'd  mend  every  rip  in  your  coat,  gloves,  vest, 
pants,  and  stockings,  from  that  remorseful  hour,  till  the  millen 
nial  day.  I  'd  hand  you  your  cigar-case  and  slippers,  put  away 
your  cane,  hang  up  your  coat  and  hat,  trim  your  beard  and 
whiskers,  and  wink  at  your  sherry  cobblers,  whisky  punches, 
and  mint  juleps.  I  'd  help  you  get  a  "  ten  strike  "  at  ninepins. 
I  'd  give  you  a  "  night  key,"  and  be  perfectly  oblivious  what  time 
in  the  small  hours  you  tumbled  into  the  front  entry.  I  'd  pet  all 
your  stupid  relatives,  and  help  your  country  friends  to  "  beat 
down  "  the  city  shopkeepers.  1  'd  frown  at  all  offers  of  "  pin 
money."  I  'd  let  you  "  smoke  "  in  my  face  till  I  was  as  brown 
as  a  herring,  and  my  eyes  looked  as  if  they  were  bound  with 
pink  tape;  and  I'd  invite  that  pretty  widow  Delilah  Wil- 


A     MODEL     HUSBAND.  117 

kins  to  dinner,  and  run  out  to  do  some  shopping,  and  stay  away 
till  tea-time.  Why!  there 's  nothing  I  would  n't  do  for  you  — 
you  might  have  knocked  me  down  with  a  feather,  after  such  a 
piece  of  magnanimity.  That  "  Levins  Clough  "  could  stand  no 
more  chance  than  a  woodpecker  tapping  at  an  iceberg. 


HOW   IS  IT? 

••Well,  Susan,  what  do  you  think  of  married  ladies  being  happy?"    "Why! 
think  there  are  more  AIN'T  than  is,  than  is  that  AIN'T." 

SUSAN,  I  shall  apply  to  the  Legislature  to  have  your  name 
changed  to  "  Sapphira."  You  are  an  unprincipled  female. 

Just  imagine  yourself  MRS.  Snip.  It  is  a  little  prefix  not  to 
be  sneezed  at.  It  is  only  the  privileged  few,  who  can  secure  a 
pair  of  corduroys  to  mend,  and  trot  by  the  side  of;  or  a  pair 
of  coat-flaps  alternately  to  darn,  and  hang  on  to,  amid  the  vi 
cissitudes  of  this  patchwork  existence. 

Think  of  the  high  price  of  fuel,  Susan,  and  the  quantity  it 
takes  to  warm  a  low-spirited,  single  woman ;  and  then  think 
of  having  all  that  found  for  you  by  your  husband,  and  no 
extra  charge  for  "^as."  Think  how  pleasant  to  go  to  the 
closet  and  find  a  great  boot-jack  on  your  best  bonnet ;  or  "  to 
work  your  passage "  to  the  looking-glass,  every  morning, 
through  a  sea  of  dickeys,  vests,  coats,  continuations,  and  neck 
ties  ;  think  of  your  nicely-polished  toilette  table  spotted  all  over 
with  shaving  suds ;  think  of  your  "  Guide  to  Young  "Women," 
used  for  a  razor  strap.  Think  of  Mr.  Snip's  lips  being  hermet 
ically  sealed,  day  after  day,  except  to  ask  you  "  if  the  coal  was 


HOW     18     IT?  119 

out,  or  if  his  coat  was  mended."  Think  of  coming  up  from 
the  kitchen,  in  a  gasping  state  of  exhaustion,  after  making  a 
batch  of  his  favorite  pies,  and  finding  five  or  six  great  dropsical 
bags  disemboweled  on  your  chamber  floor,  from  the  contents 
of  which  Mr.  Snip  had  selected  the  "  pieces  "  of  your  best  silk 
gown,  for  "  rags  "  to  clean  his  gun  with.  Think  of  his  taking 
a  watch-guard  you  made  him  out  of  YOUR  HAIR,  for  a  dog-col 
lar  !  Think  of  your  promenading  the  floor,  night  after  night, 
with  your  fretful,  ailing  baby  hushed  up  to  your  warm  cheek, 
lest  it  should  disturb  your  husband's  slumbers ;  and  think  of 
his  coming  home  the  next  day,  and  telling  you,  when  you  were 
exhausted  with  your  vigils,  "  that  he  had  just  met  his  old  love, 
Lilly  Grey,  looking  as  fresh  as  a  daisy,  and  that  it  was  unac 
countable  how  much  older  you  looked  than  she,  although  you 
were  both  the  same  age. 
Think  of  all  that,  Susan. 


A    MORNING    RAMBLE. 

WHAT  a  lovely  morning !  It  is  a  luxury  to  breathe.  How 
blue  the  sky;  how  soft  the  air;  how  fragrant  the  fresh  spring 
grass  and  budding  trees ;  and  with  what  a  gush  of  melody  that 
little  bird  eases  his  joy-burdened  heart. 

"This  world  is  very  lovely.    Oh  my  God, 
I  thank  Thee,  that  I  live." 

Clouds  there  are  ;  but,  oh,  how  much  of  sunshine !  Sorrow 
there  is ;  but,  in  every  cup  is  mingled  a  drop  of  balm.  Over 
our  threshold  the  destroying  angel  passe th ;  yet,  ere  the  rush 
of  his  dark  wing  sweepeth  past,  cometh  the  Healer. 

— Here  is  a  poor,  blind  man  basking  in  the  sunshine,  silently 
appealing,  with  outstretched  palm,  to  the  passer-by.  Through 
his  thin,  gray  locks  the  wind  plays  lovingly.  .  A  smile  beams 
on  his  withered  face ;  for,  though  his  eyes  are  rayless,  he  can 
feel  that  chill  Winter  has  gone  ;  and  he  knows  that  the  flowers 
are  blossoming, — for  the  sweet  West  wind  cometh,  God-com 
missioned,  to  waft  him  their  fragrance.  Some  pedestrians  gaze 
curiously  at  him :  others,  like  the  Levite,  "  pass  by  on  the 
other  side."  A  woman  approaches.  She  is  plainly  clad,  and 
bears  a  basket  on  her  arm.  She  has  a  good,  kind,  motherly 


A     MORNING     RAMBLE.  121 

face,  as  if  she  were  hastening  back  to  some  humble  home, 
made  brighter  and  happier  by  her  presence.  Life  is  sweet 
to  her.  She  catches  sight  of  the  poor  old  man ;  her  eye  falls 
upon  the  label  affixed  to  his  breast :  "  I  am  blind !  "  Oh,  what 
if  the  brightness  and  beauty  of  this  glad  sunshine  were  all 
night,  to  her  vailed  lids  ?  What  if  the  dear  home  faces  were  for 
ever  shrouded  from  her  yearning  sight  1  What  if  she  might 
never  walk  the  sunny  earth,  without  a  guiding  hand  1  She  places 
her  basket  upon  the  sidewalk,  and  wipes  away  a  tear :  now  she 
explores  her  time-worn  pocket;  finds  the  hardly-earned  coin,  and 
placing  it  in  the  palm  of  the  old  man,  presses  his  hand  lovingly, 
and  is  gone ! 

Poor  Bartimeus !  He  may  never  see  the  honest  face  that 
bent  so  tenderly  over  him  ;  but,  to  his  heart's  core,  he  felt  that 
kindly  pressure,  and  the  sunshine  is  all  the  brighter,  and  the 
breeze  sweeter  and  fresher  for  that  friendly  grasp,  and  life  is 
again  bright  to  the  poor  blind  man. 

"Oh  God!  I  thank  Thee,  that  I  livel " 


How  swiftly  the  ferry  boat  plows  through  the  wave!  How 
gleefully  that  little  child  claps  its  tiny  hands,  as  the  snowy  foam 
parts  on  either  side,  then  dashes  away  like  a  thing  of  life. 
Here  are  weary  business  men,  going  back  to  their  quiet  homes; 
and  pleasure-loving  belles,  returning  from  the  city.  Pacing 

up  and  clown  the  deck,  is  a  worn  and  weary  woman,  bearing 

F 


122  A     MORXIXG    RAMBLE. 

in  her  arms  a  child,  so  emaciated,  so  attenuated,  that  but  for 
the  restless  glance  of  its  dark,  sunken  eyes,  one  would  think  it 
a  little  corpse.  The  mother  has  left  her  unhealthy  garret  in 
the  noisome  lane  of  the  teeming  city,  and  paid  her  last  penny 
to  the  ferryman,  that  the  health-laden  sea  breeze  may  fan  the 
sick  child's  temples.  Tenderly  she  moves  it  from  one  shoul 
der  to  another.  Now,  she  lays  its  little  cheek  to  hers ;  now, 
she  kisses  the  little  slender  fingers ;  but  still  the  baby  moans. 
The  boat  touches  the  pier.  All  are  leaving,  but  the  mother  and 
child ;  the  ferryman  tells  her  to  "  go  too."  She  says  timidly, 
"  I  want  to  return  again — I  live  the  other  side — I  came  on 
board  for  the  baby,"  (pointing  to  the  dying  child.)  Poor  wo 
man,  she  did  not  know  that  she  could  not  go  back  without  an 
other  fee,  and  she  has  not  a  penny.  Loathsome  as  is  her  dis 
tant  home,  she  must  go  back  to  it ;  but  how  ? 

One  passenger  beside  herself  still  lingers  listening.  Dainty 
fingers  drop  a  coin  into  the  gruff  ferryman's  hand, — then  a  hand 
ful  into  the  weary,  troubled  mother's.  The  sickly  babe  looks 
up  and  smiles  at  the  chinking  coin — the  mother  smiles,  because 
the  baby  has  smiled  again — and  then  weeps  because  she  knows 
not  how  to  thank  the  lovely  donor. 

"Homeward  bound." 

Over  the  blue  waters,  the  golden  sunset  gleams ;  tinting  the 
snowy,  billowy  foam  with  a  thousand  iris  hues ;  while  at  the 
boat's  prow,  stands  the  happy  mother,  wooing  the  cool  sunset 
breeze,  which  kisses  soothingly  the  sick  infant's  temples. 

"  This  earth  is  very  lovely.    Oh  my  God, 
I  thank  theo  that  I  live !  " 


HOUR-GLASS   THOUGHTS. 

THE  bride  stands  waiting  at  the  altar ;  the  corpse  lies  wait 
ing  for  burial. 

Love  vainly  implores  of  Death  a  reprieve ;  Despair  vainly 
invokes  his  coming. 

The  starving  wretch,  who  purloins  a  crust,  trembles  in  the 
hall  of  Justice ;  liveried  sin,  unpunished,  riots  in  high  places. 

Brothers,  clad  "  in  purple  and  fine  linen,  fare  sumptuously 
every  day ;  "  Sisters,  in  linsey-woolsey,  toil  in  garrets  and 
shrink,  trembling,  from  insults  that  no  fraternal  arm  avenges. 

The  Village  Squire  sows,  reaps  and  garners  golden  harvests ; 
the  Parish  Clergyman  sighs,  as  his  casting  vote  cuts  down  his 
already  meager  salary. 

The  unpaid  sempstress  be-gems  with  tears  the  fairy  festal 
robe  ;  proud  beauty  floats  in  it  through  the  ball-room,  like  a 
thing  of  air. 

Giurch  spires  point,  with  tapering  fingers,  to  the  rich  man's 
heaven  ;  Penitence,  in  rags,  tearful  and  altarless,  meekly  stays 
its  timid  foot  at  the  threshold. 

Sneaking  Vice,  wrapped  in  the  labeled  cloak  of  Piety,  finds 
"  open  sesame ;  "  shrinking  Conscientiousness,  jostled  rudely 
aside,  weeps  in  secret  its  fancied  unworthiness. 


124  HOUR-GLASS     THOUGHTS. 

The  Editor  grows  plethoric  on  the  applause  of  the  public  and 
mammoth  subscription  lists  ;  the  unrecognized  journalist,  who, 
behind  the  scenes,  mixes  so  deftly  the  newspaperial  salad,  lives 
on  the  smallest  possible  stipend,  and  looks  like  an  undertaker's 
walking  advertisement. 

The  Wife,  pure,  patient,  loving,  trustful,  sits  singing,  by  the 
evening  fire,  repairing,  with  the  busy  fingers  of  economy,  the 
time-worn  garment ;  the  Husband,  favored  by  darkness,  seeks, 
with  stealthy  steps  and  costly  gifts,  the  syren  of  the  hour,  squan 
dering  hundreds  to  win  a  smile  which  is  ever  in  the  market  for 
the  highest  bidder. 

The  polluted  libertine,  with  foul  lips,  hackneyed  heart,  but 
polished  manners,  finds  smiling  welcome  at  the  beauteous  lips 
of  Virtue;  while,  from  the  brow  on  which  that  libertine  has 
ineffaceably  written  "  Magdalen,"  ':  beauteous  Virtue  "  turns 
scornfully  away. 

Wives  rant  of  their  "  Woman's  Eights,"  in  public ;  Hus 
bands  eat  bad  dinners  and  tend  crying  babies,  at  home. 

Mothers  toil  in  kitchens  ;   Daughters  lounge  in  parlors. 

Fathers  drive  the  plough  ;  Sons  drive  tandem. 


BOARDING  HOUSE  EXPERIENCE. 

MR.  RALPH  RESTOUX  lived  by  his  wits :  i.  e.,  he  kept  a 
boarding-house ;  taking  in  any  number  of  ladies  and  gentle 
men,  who,  in  the  philanthropic  language  of  his  advertisement, 
"  pined  for  the  comforts  and  elegancies  of  a  home." 

Mr.  Renoux's  house  was  at  the  court-end  of  the  city ;  his 
drawing-room  was  unexceptionably  furnished,  and  himself,  when 
"  made  up,"  after  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning,  quite  comme  il 
faut.  Mrs.  Renoux  never  appeared ;  being,  in  the  pathetic 
words  of  Mr.  Renoux,  "  in  a  drooping,  invalid  state  : "  never 
theless,  she  might  be  seen,  by  the  initiated,  haunting  the  back 
stairs  and  entries,  and  with  flying  cap-strings,  superintending 
kitchen-cabinet  affairs. 

Mrs.  Renoux  was  the  unhappy  mother  of  three  unmarried 
daughters,  with  red  hair,  and  tempers  to  match  ;  who  languished 
over  Byron,  in  elegant  negligees,  of  a  morning,  till  after  the 
last  masculine  had  departed ;  then,  in  curl-papers  and  calico 
long-shorts,  performed,  for  the  absentees,  the  duty  of  chamber 
maids  ;  peeping  into  valises,  trunks,  bureaus,  cigar  boxes  and 
coat  pockets,  and  replenishing  their  perfumed  bottles,  from  the 


126  BOARDING     HOUSE     EXPERIENCE. 

gentlemen's  toilet  stands,  with  the  most  perfect  nonchalance. 
At  dinner,  they  emerged  from  their  chrysalis  state,  into  the 
most  butterfly  gorgeousness,  and  exchanged  the  cracked  treble, 
with  which  they  had  been  ordering  round  the  over-tasked 
maid-of-all-work,  as  they  affectionately  addressed  "  Papa." 


At  the  commencement  of  my  story,  Renoux  was  as  happy 
as  a  kitten  with  its  first  mouse  —  having  entrapped,  with  the 
bait  of  his  alluring  advertisement,  a  widow  lady  with  one  child. 
"The  comforts  and  elegancies  of  a  home;"  —  it  was  just 
what  the  lady  was  seeking  :  —  how  very  fortunate ! 

"Certainly,  Madam,"  said  Renoux,  doubling  himself  into 
the  form  of  the  letter  C.  "  I  will  serve  your  meals  in  your 
own  room,  if  you  prefer ;  but,  really,  Madam,  I  trust  you  will 
sometimes  grace  the  drawing-room  with  your  presence,  as  we 
have  a  very  select  little  family  of  boarders.  Do  you  choose 
to  breakfast  at  eight,  nine,  or  ten,  Madam  1  Do  you  incline  to 
Mocha  1  or  prefer  the  leaves  of  the  Celestial  city  1  Are  you 
fond  of  eggs,  Madam  1  Would  you  prefer  to  dine  at  four,  or 
five  ?  Do  you  wish  six  courses,  or  more  1  There  is  the  bell- 
rope,  Madam.  I  trust  you  will  use  it  unsparingly,  should  any 
thing  be  omitted  or  neglected.  I  am  just  on  my  way  down 
town,  and  'if  you  will  favor  me  by  saying  what  you  would 
fancy  for  your  dinner  to-day,  (the  market  is  full  of  every 
thing  —  fish,  flesh,  fowl  and  game  of  all  sorts,)  you  have  only  to 
express  a  wish,  Madam,  and  the  thing  is  here ;  I  should  be  mis 
erable,  indeed,  were  the  request  of  a  lady  to  be  disregarded  in 


BOAKDING  HOUSE  EXPERIENCE.      127 

my  house,  and  that  lady  deprived  of  her  natural  protector. 
Which  is  it,  Madam,  fish  ?  flesh  1  or  fowl  ?  Any  letters  to 
send  to  the  postx>ffice,  Madam  ?  Any  commands  any  where  1 
I  shall  be  too  happy  to  be  of  service  " ;  —  and  bending  to  the 
tips  of  his  patent  leather  toes,  Mr.  Renoux,  facing  the  lady, 
bowed  obsequiously  and  Terpsichore-ally  out  of  the  apartment. 
The  dinner  hour  came.  An  Irish  servant-girl  came  with  it ; 
and  drawing  out  a  table  at  an  Irish  angle  upon  the  floor,  tossed 
over  it  a  tumbled  table-cloth ;  placed  upon  it  a  castor,  minus 
one  leg,  some  cracked  salt-cellars  and  tumblers ;  then  laid  somo 
knives,  left-handed,  about  the  table ;  then,  withdrew,  to  reap 
pear  with  the  result  of  Mr.  Renoux's  laborious  research  "  in  the 
market  filled  with  every  thing,"  viz :  a  consumptive  looking 
mackerel,  whose  skin  clung  tenaciously  to  its  back  bone,  and 
a  Peter  Schemel  looking  chicken,  which,  in  its  life-time,  must 
have  had  a  vivid  recollection  of  Noah  and  the  forty  days' 
shower.  This  was  followed  by  a  dessert  of  stale  baker's  tarts, 
compounded  of  lard  and  dried  apples  ;  and  twenty-four  purple 
grapes. 


The  next  morning,  Mr.  Renoux  tip-toed  in,  smirking  and 
bowing,  as  if  the  bill  of  fare  had  been  the  most  sumptuous  in 
the  world,  and  expressed  the  greatest  astonishment  and  indig 
nation,  that  "  the  stupid  servant  had  neglected  bringing  up  the 
other  courses  which  he  had  provided ; "  then  he  inquired 
"  how  the  lady  had  rested  ;"  and  when  she  preferred  a  request 
for  another  pillow,  (there  being  only  six  feathers  in  the  one  she 


128  BOARDING     HOUSE     EXPERIENCE. 

had,)  he  assured  her  that  it  should  be  in  her  apartment  in  less 
than  one  hour.  A  fortnight  after,  he  expressed  the  most  intense 
disgust,  that  "  the  rascally  upholsterer  "  had  not  yet  sent  what 
he  had  never  ordered.  Each  morning,  Mr.  Renoux  presented 
himself,  at  a  certain  hour,  behind  a  very  stiff  dickey,  and  offered 
the  lady  the  morning  papers.  Seating  himself  on  the  sofa, 
he  would  remark  that  —  it  was  a  very  fine  day,  and  that  affairs 
in  France  appeared  to  be  in  statu  quo ;  or,  that  the  Czar 
had  ordered  his  generals  to  occupy  the  principalities ;  that 
Gorchakoff  was  preparing  to  cross  the  Danube  ;  that  the  Sul 
tan  had  dispatched  Omar  Pasha  to  the  frontiers;  that  the 
latter  gentleman  had  presented  his  card  to  Gorchakoff,  on 
the  point  of  a  yataghan,  which  courtesy  would  probably  lead 
to something  else ! 

During  one  of  these  agreeable  calls,  the  lady  took  occasion 
slightly  to  object  to  Betty's  nibbling  the  tarts,  as  she  brought 
them  up  for  dinner ;  .whereupon,  Mr.  Renoux  declared,  upon 
the  honor  of  a  Frenchman,  that  "  she  should  be  pitched  out  of 
the  door  immediately,  if  not  sooner  j  and  an  efficient  servant 
engaged  to  take  her  place." 

The  next  day,  the  "  efficient  servant "  came  in,  broom  in  hand, 
whistling  "  Oh,  Susannna,"  and  passing  into  the  little  dressing- 
room,  to  "  put  it  to  rights,"  amused  herself  by  trying  on  the 
widow's  best  bonnet,  and  polishing  her  teeth  and  combing  hex 
hair  with  that  lady's  immaculate  and  individual  head-brush  and 
tooth-brush.  You  will  not  be  surprised  to  learn,  that  their  in 
jured  and  long-suffering  owner,  took  a  frantic  and  "  French 
leave  "  the  following  morning,  in  company  with  her  big  and 


BOARDING  HOUSE  EXPERIENCE.       129 

little  band-boxes ;  taking  refuge  under  the  sheltering  roof  of 
Madame  Finfillan. 


Madame  Finfillan  was  a  California  widow  ;  petite,  plump 
and  pretty  —  who  bore  her  cruel  bereavement  with  feminine 
philosophy,  and  slid  round  the  world's  rough  angles  with  a  most 
eel-like  dexterity.  In  short,  she  was  a  Renoux  in  petticoats. 
Madame  welcomed  the  widow  with  great  pleasure,  because,  as 
she  said,  she  "wished  to  fill  her  house  only  with  first-class 
boarders ;  "  and  the  widow  might  be  assured  that  she  had  the 
apartments  fresh  from  the  diplomatic  hands  of  the  Spanish 
Consul,  who  would  on  no  account  have  given  them  up,  had  not 
his  failing  health  demanded  a  trip  to  the  Continent.  Madame 
also  assured  the  widow,  that,  (although  she  said  it  berself,) 
every  part  of  her  house  would  bear  the  closest  inspection ; 
that  those  vulgar  horrors,  cooking  butter,  and  diluted  tea,  were 
never  seen  on  her  Epicurean  table ;  that  they  breakfasted  at 
ten,  lunched  at  two,  dined  at  six,  and  enjoyed  themselves  in  the 
interim ;  that  her  daughter,  Miss  Clara,  was  perfectly  well 
qualified  to  superintend,  when  business  called  her  mother  away. 
And  that  nobody  knew,  (wringing  her  little  white  hands,)  how 
much  business  she  had  to  do,  what  with  trotting  round  to  those 
odious  markets,  trading  for  wood  and  coal,  and  such  like  unin 
teresting  things ;  or  what  would  become  of  her,  had  she  not 
some  of  the  best  friends  in  the  world  to  look  after  her,  in  the 
absence  of  Mons.  Finfillan. 
9b 


130       BOARDING  HO  USE  EXPERIENCE. 

—  Madame  then  caught  up  the -widow's  little  boy,  and,  half 
smothering  him  with  kisses,  declared  that  there  was  nothing 
on  earth  she  loved  so  well  as  children ;  that  there  were  half 
a  dozen  of  them  in  the  house,  who  loved  her  better  than  their 
O\YII  fathers  and  mothers,  and  that  their  devotion  to  her  was  at 
times  quite  touching  —  (and  here  she  drew  out  an  embroidered 
pocket  handkerchief,  and  indulged  in  an  interesting  little  sniffle  be 
hind  its  cambric  folds.)  Eecovering  herself,  she  went  on  to  say, 
that  the  manner  in  which  some  boarding-house  keepers  treated 
children,  was  perfectly  inhuman  :  that  she  had  a  second  table 
for  them,  to  be  sure,  but  it  was  loaded  with  delicacies,  and  that 
she  always  put  them  up  a  little  school  lunch  herself;  on  which 
occasion  there  was  always  an  amicable  little  quarrel  among 
them,  as  to  which  should  receive  from  her  the  greatest  number 
of  kisses  ;  also,  that  it  was  her  frequent  practice  to  get  up  little 
parties  and  tableaux,  for  then*  amusement.  "  But  here  is  my 
daughter,  Miss  Clara,"  said  she,  introducing  a  fair-haired  young 
damsel,  buttoned  up  in  a  black  velvet  jacket,  over  a  flounced 
skirt. 

"  Just  sixteen  yesterday,"  said  Madame :  "  naughty  little 
blossom,  budding  out  so  fast,  and  pushing  her  poor  mamma 
off  the  stage  ;  "  (and  here  Madame  paused  for  a  compliment, 
and  looking  in  the  opposite  mirror,  smoothed  her  jetty  ringlets 
complacently.)  "  Yes,  every  morning  little  blossom's  mamma 
looks  in  the  glass,  expecting  to  find  a  horror  of  a  gray  hair. 
But  what  makes  my  little  pet  so  pensive  to-day  ?  —  thinking 
of  her  little  lover,  hey  ?  Has  the  naughty  little  thing  a  thought 
she  does  not  share  with  mamma  ?  But,  dear  me !  "  —  and 


BOARDING    HOUSE    EXPERIENCE.  131 

Madame  drew  out  a  little  dwarf  watch  ;  "  I  had  quite  forgotten 
it  is  the  hour  Mons.  Guigen  gives  me  my  guitar  lesson.  Adieu, 
dinner  at  six,  remember ; "  —  and  Madame  tripped,  coquek 
tishly,  out  of  the  room. 

"  Yes ;  "  dinner  at  six."  Gold  saltcellars,  black  waiters, 
and  finger-bowls ;  satin  chairs  in  the  parlor,  and  pastilles  burn 
ing  on  the  side-table ;  but  the  sheets  on  the  beds  all  torn  to 
ribbons ;  the  boarders  allowed  but  one  towel  a  week  ;  every 
bell-rope  divorced  from  its  bell ;  the  locks  all  out  of  order  on 
the  chamber  doors  ;  the  "  dear  children's  "  bill  of  fare  at  the 
"  second  table  "  —  sour  bread,  watery  soup,  and  cold  buck 
wheat  cakes  ;  —  and  "  dinner  at  six,"  only  an  invention  of  the 
enemy,  to  save  the  expense  of  one  meal  a  day — the  good, 
cozy,  old-fashioned  tea. 

Well,  the  boarders  were  all  "  trusteed "  by  Madame's 
butcher,  baker  and  milkman ;  Miss  Clara  eloped  with  the 
widow's  diamond  ring  and  Mons.  Peneke ;  and  Madame,  who 
had  heard  that  Mons.  Finfillan  was  "  among  the  things  that 
were"  was  just  about  running  off  with  Mons.  Guigen,  when  her 
liege  lord  suddenly  returned  from  California,  with  damaged 
constitution  and  morals,  a  dilapidated  wardrobe  and  empty 
coffers. 

Moral.  Beware  of  boarding-houses :  in  the  words  of 
Shakspeare, 

Let  those  keep  house  who  no'er  kept  house  before 
And  those  who  have  kept  house,  keep  house  tho  more. 


A   GRUMBLE  FROM  THE   (H)  ALTAR. 

THIS  is  the  second  day  I  've  come  home  to  dinner,  without 
that  yard  of  pink  ribbon  for  Mrs.  Pendennis.  Now,  \ve  shall 
have  a  broil,  not  down  in  the  bill  of  fare.  Julius  Csesar ;  if 
she  only  knew  how  much  I  have  to  do ;  but  it  would  make  no 
difference  if  she  did.  I  used  to  think  a  fool  was  easily  man 
aged.  Mrs.  Pendennis  has  convinced  me  that  that  was  a  mis 
take.  If  I  try  to  reason  with  her,  she  talks  round  and  round  in 
a  circle,  like  a  kitten  chasing  its  tail.  If  I  set  my  arms  a-kimbo, 
and  look  threatening,  she  settles  into  a  fit  of  the  sulks,  to 
which  a  November  drizzle  of  a  fortnight's  duration  is  a  mil. 
lenium.  If  I  try  to  get  round  her  by  petting,  she  is  as  impu 
dent  as  the .  Yes,  just  about.  Jerusalem!  what  a  thing 

it  is  to  be  married !     And  yet,  if  an  inscrutable  Providence 
should  bereave  me  of  Mrs.  Pendennis,  I  am  not  at  all  sure 

good  gracious,  here  she  comes !     Do  you  know  I  'd  rather 

face  one  of  Colt's  revolvers  this  minute,  than  that  four  feet  of 
womanhood  ?     Is  n't  it  astonishing,  the  way  they  do  it  1 


A  WICK-ED  PARAGRAPH. 

CONNUBIAL. — Mr.  Albert  Wicks,  of  Coventry,  under  date  of  December  28th,  ad 
vertised  liis  wife  as  having  left  his  bed  and  board ;  and  now,  under  date  of  March 
2Gth,  he  appends  to  his  former  notice,  the  following: 

"  Mrs.  Wicks,  if  you  ever  intend  to  come  back  and  live  with  me  any  more,  you 
must  come  now  or  not  at  all. 

"  I  love  you  as  I  do  my  life,  and  if  you  will  come  now,  I  will  forgive  you  for  all  you 
have  done  and  threatened  to  do,  which  I  can  prove  by  three  good  witnesses :  and  if 
not,  I  shall  attend  to  your  case  without  delay,  and  soon,  too." 

THERE,  now,  Mrs.  Wicks,  what  is  to  be  done  1  "  Three  good 
witnesses !  "  think  of  that  !  What  the  mischief  have  you  been 
about  ?  Whatever  it  is,  Mr.  Wicks  is  ready  to  "  love  you  like 
his  life."  Consistent  Mr.  Wicks ! 

Now  take  a  a  little  advice,  my  dear  innocent,  and  don't  al 
low  yourself  to  be  badgered  or  frightened  into  anything.  None 
but  a  coward  ever  threatens  a  woman.  Put  that  in  your  me 
morandum  book.  It 's  all  bluster  and  braggadocio.  Thread 
your  darning-needle,  and  tell  him  you  are  ready  for  him  — 
ready  for  anything  except  his  "loving  you  like  his  life;"  that 
you  could  not  possibly  survive  that  infliction,  without  having 
your  "  wick"  snuffed  entirely  out. 

Sew  away,  just  as  if  there  were  not  a  domestic  earthquake 
brewing  under  your  connubial  feet.  If  it  sends  you  up  in  the 
*ir,  it  sends  him,  too  —  there  's  a  pair  of  you  !  Put  that  in 


134  A    WICK-ED    PARAGRAPH. 

his  Wick-ed  ear  !  Of  course  he  will  sputter  away,  as  if  he  had 
swallowed  a  "  Roman  candle,"  and  you  can  take  a  nap  till  he 
gets  through,  and  then  offer  him  your  smelling-bottle  to  quiet 
his  nerves. 

That 's  the  way  to  quench  h'm ! 


MISTAKEN   PHILANTHROPY. 

"  Don't  moralize  to  a  man  who  Is  on  his  back.    Help  him  up,  set  him  firmly  on 
his  feet,  and  then  give  him  advice  and  means." 

THERE  'e  an  old-fashioned,  verdant  piece  of  wisdom,  altogether 
unsuited  for  the  enlightened  age  we  live  in  !  Fished  up,  prob 
ably,  from  some  musty  old  newspaper,  edited  by  some  eccen 
tric  man  troubled  with  that  inconvenient  appendage,  called  a 
heart !  Don't  pay  any  attention  to  it.  If  a  poor  wretch  (male 
or  female)  comes  to  you  for  charity,  whether  allied  to  you  by 
your  own  mother,  or  mother  Eve,  put  on  the  most  stoical, 
"  get  thee  behind  me  "  expression  you  can  muster.  Listen  to 
him  with  the  air  of  a  man  who  "  thanks  God  he  is  not  as  other 
men  are."  If  the  story  carry  conviction  with  it,  and  truth  and 
sorrow  go  hand  in  hand,  button  your  coat  up  tighter  over  your 
pocket-book,  and  give  him  a  piece  of — good  advice  !  If  you 
know  anything  about  him,  try  to  rake  up  some  imprudence  or 
mistake  he  may  have  made  in  the  course  of  his  life,  and  bring 
that  up  as  a  reason  why  you  can't  give  him  anything  more  sub 
stantial,  and  tell  him  that  his  present  condition  is  probably  a 
salutary  discipline  for  those  same  peccadilloes  !  Ask  him  more 
questions  than  there  are  in  the  Assembly's  Catechism,  about 
his  private  history,  and  when  you  Ve  pumped  him  high  aud 


186  MISTAKEN     PHILANTROPHY. 

dry,  try  to  teach  him  (on  an  empty  stomach,)  the  "  duty  of 
submission."  If  the  tear  of  wounded  sensibility  begin  to  flood 
the  eye,  and  a  hopeless  look  of  discouragement  settle  down 
upon  the  face,  "-wish  him  well,"  and  turn  your  back  upon  him 
as  quick  as  possible. 

Should  you  at  any  time  be  seized  with  an  unexpected  spasm 
of  generosity,  and  make  up  your  mind  to  bestow  some  worn 
out,  old  garment  that  will  hardly  hold  together  till  the  recipi 
ent  gets  it  home,  you've  bought  him,  body  and  soul ;  of  course 
you  are  entitled  to  the  gratitude  of  a  life-time !  If  he  ever  pre 
sumes  to  think  differently  from  you  after  that,  he 's  an  "  un 
grateful  wretch,"  and  "  ought  to  suffer."  As  to  the  "  golden 
rule,"  that  was  made  in  old  times ;  everything  is  changed  now ; 
'  t  aint  suited  to  our  meridian. 

People  should  n't  get  poor  ;  if  they  do,  you  don  't  want  to 
be  bothered  with  it.  It 's  disagreeable  ;  it  hinders  your  diges 
tion.  You  'd  rather  see  Dives  than  Lazarus ;  and  it 's  my  opin 
ion  your  taste  will  be  gratified  in  that  particular,  (in  the  other 
world,  if  it  is  not  in  this  !) 


INSIGNIFCANT   LOVE. 

"  You,  young,  loving  creature,  who  dream  of  your  lover  by  night  and  by  day— 
you  fancy  that  he  does  the  same  of  you?  One  hour,  perhaps,  your  presence  lias 
captivated  him,  subdued  hiin  even  to  weakness ;  the  next,  he  will  be  in  the  world, 
working  his  way  as  a  man  among  men,  forgetting,  for  the  time  being,  your  very  ex 
istence.  Possibly,  if  you  saw  him,  his  outer  self,  so  hard  and  stern,  so  different  from 
the  self  you  know,  would  strike  you  with  pain.  Or  else  his  inner  aud  diviner  self, 
higher  than  you  dream  of,  would  turn  coldly  from  your  insignificant  love." 

"  INSIGNIFICANT  love !  ! "  I  like  that.  More  especially  when 
out  of  ten  couple  you  meet,  nine  of  the  wives  are  as  far  above 
their  husbands,  in  point  of  mind,  as  the  stars  are  above  the 
earth.  For  the  credit  of  the  men  I  should  be  sorry  to  say  how 
many  of  them  would  be  minus  coats,  hats,  pantaloons,  cigars, 
&c.,  were  it  not  for  their  wives'  earnings ;  or  how  many  smart 
speeches  and  able  sermons  have  been  concocted  by  their  better 
halves,  (while  rocking  the  cradle,)  to  be  delivered  to  the  public 
at  the  proper  time,  parrot  fashion,  by  the  lords  of  creation. 
Wisdom  will  die  with  the  men,  there 's  no  gainsaying  that ! 

Catch  a  smart,  talented,  energetic  woman,  and  it  will 
puzzle  you  to  find  a  man  that  will  compare  with  her  for  go- 
aheadativeness.  The  more  obstacles  she  encounters,  the  harder 
she  struggles,  and  the  more  you  try  to  put  her  down,  the  more 
you  won't  do  it.  Children  are  obliged  to  write  under  their 


138  INSIGNIFICANT     LOVE. 

crude  drawings,  "  this  is  a  dog,"  or,  "  this  is  a  horse."  If  it 
were  not  for  coats  and  pants,  we  should  be  obliged  to  label, 
"  this  is  a  man,"  in  ninety-nine  cases  out  of  a  hundred  ! 

"  Insignificant  love !  "  Why  does  a  man  offer  himself  a 
dozen  times  to  the  same  woman  ?  Pity  to  take  so  much  pains 
for  such  a  trifle!  "Insignificant  love!"  Who  gets  you  on 
your  feet  again,  when  you  fail  in  business,  by  advancing  the 
nice  little  sum  settled  on  herself  by  her  anxious  pa  1  Who 
cheers  you  up,  when  her  nerves  are  all  in  a  double-and-twisted 
knot,  and  you  come  home  with  your  face  long  as  the  moral  law  ? 
Who  wears  her  old  bonnet  three  winters,  while  you  smoke,  and 
drive,  and  go  to  the  opera  ?  Who  sits  up  till  the  small  hours, 
to  help  you  find  the  way  up  your  own  staircase  ?  Who  darns 
your  old  coat,  next  morning,  just  as  if  you  were  a  man,  in 
stead  of  a  brute  1  And  who  scratches  any  woman's  eyes  out, 
who  dares  insinuate  that  her  husband  is  superior  to  you  ! 

"  Insignificant  love  ! "  I  wish  I  knew  the  man  who  wrote 
that  article !  I  'd  appoint  his  funeral  to-morrow,  and  it  should 
come  off,  too  !  ! 


A  MODEL  MARRIED  MAN. 

COBBETT  says  that  for  two  years  after  his  marriage,  he  retained  his  disposition  to 
flirt  with  pretty  women;  but  at  last  his  wife — probably  having  lost  all  hope  of  his 
reforming  himself —  gently  tapped  him  upon  the  arm,  and  remarked  — 

"Don't  do  that.    I  do  not  like  it." 

Cobbett  says :  —  "  That  was  quite  enough.  I  had  never  thought  on  the  subject  be 
fore  ;  one  hair  of  her  head  was  more  dear  to  me  than  all  other  women  in  the  world ; 
and  this  I  knew  that  she  knew ;  but  now  I  saw  that  this  was  not  all  that  she  had  a 
right  to  from  me.  Isaic  that  she  had  the  further  claimitpon  me  that  I  should  ab 
stain  from  everything  that  might  induce  others  to  believe  that  there  teas  any  other 
woman  for  -whom,  even  if  1  icere  at  liberty,  Iliad  any  affection." 

Now  I  suppose  most  women,  on  reading  that,  would  roll  up 
their  eyes  and  think  unutterable  things  of  Mr.  Cobbett !  But, 
had  /  borne  his  musical  name,  and  had  that  fine  speech  been 
addressed  to  me,  I  should  immediately  have  dismissed  the  — 
house-maid ! 

It  is  not  in  any  masculine  to  get  on  his  knees  that  way,  with 
out  a  motive !  I  tell  you,  that  man  was  a  humbug  !  overshot 
the  mark,  entirely ;  promised  ten  times  as  much  as  a  sinful 
masculine  could  ever  perform.  If  he'd  said  about  a  quarter 
part  of  that,  you  might  have  believed  him.  His  affection  for 
Mrs.  Cobbett  was  skin-deep.  He  would  have  flirted  with  every 
one  of  you,  the  minute  her  back  was  turned,  to  the  end  of  the 
electrical  chapter ! 

A  man  who  is  magnetized  as  he  ought  to  be,  don't  waste  his 
precious  time  making  such  long-winded,  sentimental  speeches. 


140  A    MODEL    MARRIED    MAX. 

You  never  need  concern  yourself,  when  such  a  glib  tongue, 
makes  love  to  you.  Go  on  with  your  knitting;  he^s  conva 
lescent!  getting  better  of  his  complaint  fast.  Now  mind  what 
I  tell  you ;  that  Cobbett  was  a  humbug ! 


MEDITATIONS  OF  PAUL  PRY,  JUN. 

NOT  a  blessed  bit  of  gossip  have  I  heard  for  a  whole  week  ! 
Nobody's  run  off  with  anybody's  wife ;  not  a  single  case  of 
"  Swartwouting  ;"  no  minister's  been  to  the  theatre  ;  and  my 
friend  Tom,  editor  of  the  "  Sky  Rocket,"  (who  never  cares 
whether  a  rumor  be  true  or  false,  or  where  it  hits,  so  that  it 
makes  a  paragraph,)  is  quite  in  despair.  He  's  really  afraid  the 
world  is  growing  virtuous — says  it  would  be  a  hundred  dollars 
in  his  pocket,  to  get  hold  of  a  bit  of  scandal  in  such  a  dearth 
of  news ;  and  if  the  accused  party  gets  obstreperous,  che  'd 
just  as  lief  publish  one  side  as  the  other !  The  more  fuss  the 
the  better ;  all  he 's  afraid  of  is,  they  won't  think  it  worth 
noticing ! 

Ah  !  we  've  some  new  neighbors  in  that  house  ;  pretty  wo 
man  there,  at  the  window  ;  glad  of  that !  In  the  first  place,  it 
rests  my  eyes  to  look  at  them  ;  in  the  next  place,  where  there 's 
a  pretty  woman,  you  may  be  morally  certain  there  '11  be  mis 
chief,  sooner  or  later,  i.  e.  if  they  don't  have  somebody  like 
me  to  look  after  them  ;  therefore  I  shall  keep  my  eye  on  her. 
That 's  her  husband  in  the  room,  I  'm  certain  of  it,  (for  all  the 
while  she  is  talking  to  him,  she  's  looking  out  the  window  !) 
There  he  goes  down  street  to  his  business  —  a  regular  bum- 


142  MEDITATIONS    OF    PAUL    PRY,   JUN. 

drum,  henpecked,  "ledger"  looking  Lilliputian.  Was  not  cut  out 
for  her,  that's  certain  !  Well,  my  lady's  wide  awake  enough ! 
Look  at  her  eye !  No  use  in  pursing  up  that  pretty  mouth ! 
—  that  eye  tells  the  story  !  Nice  little  plump  figure ;  coquet 
tish  turn  of  the  head,  and  a  spring  to  her  step.  Well,  well, 
I'll  keep  my  eyes  open. 

Just  as  I  expected !  there  's  a  young  man  ringing  at  the 
door ;  "  patent  leather,"  "  kid  gloves,"  white  hand,  ring  on  the 
little  finger  —  hope  she  won't  shut  the  blinds  now.  There  ! 
she  has  taken  her  seat  on  the  sofa  at  the  back  part  of  the  room. 
She  don't  escape  me  that  way,  while  I  own  a  spy-glass  !  Jupi 
ter  !  if  he  is  not  twisting  her  curls  round  his  fingers !  Wonder 
how  old  "  Ledger  "  would  like  that ! 

Tuesday. —  Boy  at  the  door  with  a  bouquet.  Can't  ring  the 
bell ;  I  '11  just  step  out  and  offer  to  do  it  for  him,  and  learn 
who  sent  it !  "  Has  orders  not  to  tell;"  umph  !  Pve  no  or 
ders  "  not  to  tell ; "  so  here  goes  a  note  to  Ledger  about  it ; 
that  little  gipsy  is  stepping  BATHER  too  high. 

Wednesday. — Here  I  am  tied  up  for  a  month  at  least; 
scarcely  a  whole  bone  in  my  body,  to  say  nothing  of  the  way 
my  feelings  are  hurt.  How  did  I  know  that  young  man  was 
"  her  brother  ?  "  Why  could  n't  Ledger  correct  my  mistake  in 
a  gentlemanly  way,  without  daguerreotyping  it  on  my  back 
with  a  horsewhip  1  It's  true  I  am  not  always  correct  in  my  sus 
picions,  but  he  ought  to  have  looked  at  my  motives !  Sup 
pose  it  had  n't  been  her  brother,  now  !  It 's  astonishing,  the 
ingratitude  of  people.  It 's  enough  to  discourage  all  my  at 
tempts  at  moral  reform ! 


MEDITATIONS     OF    PAUL    PRT,    JUN.  143 

Well,  it 's  no  use  attacking  that  hornet's  nest  again  ;  but  I  've 
no  doubt  some  of  the  commandments  are  broken  somewhere  ; 
and  with  the  help  of  some  "  opodeldoc  "  I  '11  get  out  and  find 
where  it  is ! 


SUNSHINE  AND  YOUNG   MOTHERS. 

FOLLY.  For  girls  to  expect  to  be  happy  without  marriage.  Every  woman  was 
made  for  a  mother,  consequently,  babies  are  as  necessary  to  their  "  peace  of  mind," 
as  health.  If  you  wish  to  look  at  melancholy  and  indigestion,  look  at  an  old  maid. 
If  you  would  take  a  peep  at  sunshine,  look  in  the  face  of  a  young  mother. 

" YOUNG  mothers  and  sunshine"!  They  are  worn  to  fiddle 
strings  before  they  are  twenty -five !  When  an  old  lover  turns 
up,  he  thinks  he  sees  his  grandmother,  instead  of  the  dear  little 
Mary  who  used  to  make  him  feel  as  if  he  should  crawl  out  of 
the  toes  of  his  boots!  Yes  !  my  mind  is  quite  made  up  about 
matrimony  •  it 's  a  one-sided  partnership. 

"Husband"  gets  up  in  the  morning,  and  pays  his  devoirs  to 
the  looking-glass  ;  curls  his  fine  head  of  hair  ;  puts  on  an  im 
maculate  shirt  bosom ;  ties  an  excruciating  cravat ;  sprinkles 
his  handkerchief  with  cologne ;  stows  away  a  French  roll,  an 
egg,  and  a  cup  of  coffee ;  gets  into  the  omnibus,  looks  at  the 
pretty  girls,  and  makes  love  between  the  pauses  of  business 
during  the  forenoon  generally.  Wife  must  "  hermetically  seal " 
the  windows  and  exclude  all  the  fresh  air,  (because  the  baby 
had  "the  snuffles"  in  the  night ;)  and  sits  gasping  down  to  the 
table  more  dead  than  alive,  to  finish  her  breakfast.  Tommy 
turns  a  cup  of  hot  coffee  down  his  bosom  ;  Juliana  has  torn  off 
the  strings  of  her  school  bonnet;  James  "wants  his  geography 
covered ; "  Eliza  can't  find  her  satchel ;  the  butcher  wants  to 


SUNSHINE    AND    rOUNG    MOTHERS.  145 

know  if  she  'd  like  a  joint  of  mutton ;  the  milkman  would  like 
his  money  ;  the  iceman  wants  to  speak  to  her  "just  a  minute ;" 
the  baby  swallows  a  bean  ;  husband  sends  the  boy  home  from 
the  store  to  say  his  partner  will  dine  with  him ;  the  cook 
leaves  "all  flying,"  to  go  to  her  "sister's  dead  baby's  wake," 
and  husband's  thin  coat  must  be  ironed  before  noon. 

"Sunshine  and  young  mothers!"     Where's  my  smelling 
bottle  7 

lOb  G 


UNCLE  BEN'S  ATTACK  OF  SPRING  FEVER, 
AND  HOW  HE  GOT  CURED. 

"  IT  is  not  possible  that  you  have  been  insane  enough  to  go  to 
housekeeping  in  the  country,  for  the  summer"?  Oh,  you  ought 
to  hear  my  experience,"  and  Uncle  Ben  wiped  the  perspiration 
from  his  forehead,  at  the  very  thought. 

Yes,  I  tried  it  once,  with  city  habits  and  a  city  wife :  got 
rabid  with  the  dog  days,  and  nothing  could  cure  me  but  a  nib 
ble  of  green  grass.  There  was  Susan,  you  know,  who  never 
was  off  a  brick  pavement  in  her  life,  and  did  n't  know  the  dif 
ference  between  a  cheese  and  a  grindstone. 

Well,  we  ripped  up  our  carpets,  and  tore  down  our  curtains, 
and  packed  up  our  crockery,  and  nailed  down  our  pictures,  and 
eat  dust  for  a  week,  and  then  we  emigrated  to  Daisy  Ville. 

Could  I  throw  up  a  window  or  fasten  back  a  blind  in  that 
house,  without  sacrificing  my  suspenders  and  waistband  but 
ton  ?  No,  sir !  Were  not  the  walls  full  of  Red  Rovers  ? 
Did  n't  the  doors  fly  open  at  every  wind  gust  ?  Did  n't  the 
roof  leak  like  the  mischief?  Was  not  the  chimney  leased  to  a 
pack  of  swallows  1  Was  not  the  well  a  half  a  mile  from  tho 
house  ? 


SPRING      V  K  V  E  K.     HOW     CURED.  1 47 

Oh,  you  need  n't  laugh.  Instead  of  the  comfortable  naps  to 
which  I  had  been  accustomed,  I  had  to  sleep  with  one  eye  open 
all  night,  lest  I  should  n't  get  into  the  city  in  time.  I  had  to  be 
shaving  in  the  morning  before  a  rooster  in  the  barn-yard  had 
stirred  a  feather ;  swallowed  my  coffee  and  toast  by  steam,  and 
then,  still  masticating,  made  for  the  front  door.  There  stood 
Peter  with  my  horse  and  gig, — for  I  detest  your  cars  and  om 
nibuses.  On  the  floor  of  the  chaise  was  a  huge  basket  in  which 
to  bring  home  material  for  the  next  day's  dinner  ;  on  the  seat  was 
a  dress  of  my  wife's  to  be  left  "  without  fail  "  at  Miss  Sewing 
Silk's,  to  have  the  forty-seventh  hook  moved  one-sixth  of  a  de 
gree  higher  up  on  the  back.  Then  there  was  a  package  of 
shawls  from  Tom  Fools  &  Co.,  to  be  returned,  and  a  pair  of 
shoes  to  carry  to  Lapstone,  who  was  to  select  another  pair  for 
me  to  bring  out  at  night ;  and  a  demijohn  to  be  filled  with 
Sherry.  Well,  I  whipped  up  Bucephalus,  left  my  sleeping 
wife  and  babies,  and  started  for  town  ;  cogitating  over  an  intri 
cate  business  snarl,  which  bade  defiance  to  any  straightening 
process.  I  had  n't  gone  half  a  mile  before  an  old  maid  (I  hate 
old  maids)  stopped  me  to  know  if  I  was  going  into  town,  and 
'f  I  was,  if  I  would  n't  take  her  in,  as  the  omnibusses  made  her 
sick.  She  said  she  was  niece  to  Squire  Dandelion,  and  "  had  a 
few  chores  to  do  a  shopping."  So  I  took  her  in,  or  rather, 
she  took  me  in,  (but  she  did  n't  do  it  but  once — for  I  bought 
a  sulkey  next  day  !)  Well,  it  came  night,  and  I  was  hungry 
as  a  Hottentot,  for  I  never  could  dine,  as  your  married  widow 
ers  pro  tern  do,  at  eating-houses,  where  one  gravy  answers  for 
flesh,  fish  and  fowl,  and  the  pudding-sauce  is  as  black  as  the 


148  SPRING     FEVER,     UOW     CURED. 

cook's  complexion.  So  I  went  round  on  an  empty  stomach, 
hunting  up  my  expressman  parcels,  and  wending  my  way  to 
the  stable  with  arms  and  pockets  running  over.  When  I  got 
home,  found  my  wife  in  despair,  no  tacks  in  the  house  to  nail 
down  carpets,  and  not  one  to  be  had  at  the  store  in  the  village ; 
the  cook  had  deserted  because  she  could  n't  do  without  "  hei 
city  privileges"  (meaning  Jonathan  Jones,  the  "dry  dirt' 
man)  ;  and  the  chambermaid,  a  buxom  country  girl  with  fire 
red  hair,  was  spinning  round  the  crockery  (a  la  Blitz)  be 
cause  she  "  could  n't  eat  with  the  family." 

Then  Charley  was  taken  with  the  croup  in  the  night,  and  in 
my  fright  I  put  my  feet  into  my  coat  sleeves,  and  my  arms  in 
to  my  pants,  and  put  on  one  of  my  wife's  ruffles  instead  of  a 
dicky,  and  rode  three  miles  in  a  pelting  rain,  for  some  "  goose 
grease  "  for  his  throat. 

Then  we  never  found  out  till  cherries,  and  strawberries,  and 
peaches  were  ripe,  how  many  friends  (?)  we  had.  There  was 
a  horse  hitched  at  every  rail  in  the  fence,  so  long  as  there  was 
anything  left  to  eat  on  a  tree  in  the  farm ;  but  if  my  wife  went 
in  town  shopping,  and  called  on  any  of  them,  they  were  "  out, 
or  engaged ;  "  —  or  if  at  home,  had  "just  done  dinner,  and  were 
going  to  ride." 

Then  there  was  no  school  in  the  neighborhood  for  the  chil 
dren,  and  they  were  out  in  the  barn-yard  feeding  the  pigs  with 
lump  sugar,  and  chasing  the  hens  off  the  nest  to  see  what  was 
the  prospect  for  eggs,  and  making  little  boats  of  their  shoes, 
and  sailing  them  in  the  pond,  and  milking  the  cow  in  the  mid 
dle  of  the  day,  &c. 


SPRING     F  E  V  E  r.  .     II  O  W     CURED.  149 

Then  if  I  dressed  in  the  miming  in  linen  coat,  thin  pants, 
and  straw  hat,  I  'd  be  sure  to  find  the  wind  "  dead  east "  when 
I  got  into  the  city ;  or  if  I  put  on  broadcloth  and  fixins  to 
match,  it  would  be  hotter  than  Shadrach's  furnace,  all  day  — 
while  the  dense  morning  fog  would  extract  the  starch  from  my 
dicky  and  shirt-bosom,  till  they  looked  very  like  a  collapsed 
flapjack. 

Then  our  meeting-house  was  a  good  two  miles  distant,  and 
we  had  to  walk,  or  stay  at  home ;  because  my  factotum  (Pe 
ter)  would  n't  stay  on  the  farm  without  he  could  have  the 
horse  Sundays  to  go  to  Mill  Village*  to  see  his  affianced  Nancy. 
Then  the  old  farmers  leaned  on  my  stone  wall,  and  laughed  till 
the  tears  came  into  their  eyes,  to  see  "  the  city  gentleman's  " 
experiments  in  horticulture,  as  they  passed  by  "  to  meetin'." 

Well,  sir,  before  summer  was  over,  my  wife  and  I  looked  as 
jaded  as  omnibus  horses  —  she  with  chance  "  help  "  and  floods 
of  city  company,  and  I  with  my  arduous  duties  as  express  man 
for  my  own  family  in  particular,  and  the  neighbors  in  general. 

And  now  here  we  are  — "  No.  9  Kossuth  square."  Can  reach 
anything  we  want,  by  putting  our  hands  out  the  front  windows. 
If,  as  the  poet  says,  "  man  made  the  town,"  all  I've  got  to  say 
is  —  he  understood  his  business ! 


THE    AGED  MINISTER  VOTED  A    DIS 
MISSION. 

Your  minster  is  "  superannuated,"  is  he  ?  Well,  call  a  par 
ish  meeting,  and  vote  him  a  dismission  ;  hint  that  his  useful 
ness  is  gone ;  that  ne  is  given  to  repetition  ;  that  he  puts  his 
hearers  to  sleep.  Tuni  him  adrift,  like  a  blind  horse,  or  a  lame 
house  dog.  Never  mind  that  he  has  grown  gray  in  your  thank 
less  service  —  that  he  has  smiled  upon  your  infants  at  the  bap 
tismal  font,  given  them  lovingly  away  in  marriage  to  their 
heart's  chosen,  and  wept  with  you  when  Death's  shadow  dark 
ened  your  door.  Never  mind  that  he  has  laid  aside  his  pen, 
and  listened  many  a  time,  and  oft,  with  courteous  grace  to  your 
tedious,  prosy  conversations,  when  his  moments  were  like  gold 
dust ;  never  mind  that  he  has  patiently  and  uncomplainingly 
accepted  at  your  hands,  the  smallest  pittance  that  would  sustain 
life,  because  "  the  Master  "  whispered  in  his  ear,  "  Tarry  here 
till  I  come."  Never  mind  that  the  wife  of  his  youth,  whom  he 
won  from  a  home  of  luxury,  is  broken  down  with  privation  and 
fatigue,  and  your  thousand  unnecessary  demands  upon  her 
strength,  patience,  and  time.  Never  mind  that  his  children,  at 
an  early  age,  were  exiled  from  the  parsonage  roof,  because 
there  was  not  "  bread  enough  and  to  spare,"  in  their  father's 


"Your  minister  is  getting  'superannuated,'  is  lie?     Wtll,  call  a  parish 
meeting,  and  vote  him  a  dismission." 


THE     A  O  K  D      M  I  N  1  B  T  E  11 .  151 

house.  Never  mind  that  his  library  consists  only  of  a,  Bible,  a 
Concordance,  and  a  Dictionary  ;  and  that  to  the  luxury  of  a 
religious  newspaper,  he  has  been  long  years  a  stranger.  Never 
mind  that  his  wardrobe  would  be  spumed  by  many  a  mechanic 
in  our  cities  ;  never  mind  that  he  has  "  risen  early  and  sat  up 
late,"  and  tilled  the  ground  with  weary  limbs,  for  earthly 
"  manna,"  while  his  glorious  intellect  lay  in  fetters  — for  you. 
Never  mind  all  that ;  call  a  parish  meeting,  and  vote  him  "su 
perannuated."  Don't  spare  him  the  starting  tear  of  sensibility, 
or  the  flush  of  wounded  pride,  by  delicately  offering  to  settle  a 
colleague,  that  your  aged  pastor  may  rest  on  his  staff  in  grate 
ful,  gray-haired  independence.  No !  turn  the  old  patriarch 
out ;  give  him  time  to  go  to  the  moss-grown  church-yard,  and  say 
farewell  to  his  unconscious  dead,  and  then  give  "  the  right  hand 
of  fellowship  "  to  some  beardless,  pedantic,  noisy  college  boy, 
who  will  save  your  sexton  the  trouble  of  pounding  the  pulpit 
cushions ;  and  who  will  tell  you  and  the  Almighty,  in  his 
prayers,  all  the  political  news  of  the  week. 


THE    FATAL   MARRIAGE. 

A  VERY  pretty  girl  was  Lucy  Lee.  Don't  ask  me  to  de 
scribe  her ;  stars,  and  gems,  and  flowers,  have  long  since  been 
exhausted  in  depicting  heroines.  Suffice  it  to  say,  Lucy  was  as 
pretty  a  little  fairy  as  ever  stepped  foot  in  a  slipper  or  twisted 
a  ringlet. 

Of  course,  Lucy  knew  she  was  pretty ;  else  why  did  the 
gentlemen  stare  at  her  so  1  Why  did  Harry  Graham  send  her 
so  many  bouquets?  Why  did  Mr.  Smith  and  Mr.  Jones  try 
to  sit  each  other  out  in  an  evening  call  1  Why  were  picnics 
and  fairs  postponed,  if  she  were  engaged  or  ill  1  Why  did  so 
many  young  men  request  an  introduction  ?  Why  did  all  tne 
serenaders  come  beneath  her  window  1  Why  was  a  pew  or 
omnibus  never  full  when  she  appeared  at  the  door  1  And  last, 
though  not  least,  why  did  all  the  women  imitate  and  hate 
her  so  ? 

We  will  do  Miss  Lucy  the  justice  to  say,  that  she  bore  her 
blushing  honors  very  meekly.  She  never  flaunted  her  con 
quest  in  the  faces  of  less  attractive  feminines  ;  no,  Lucy  was  the 
farthest  remove  from  a  coquette ;  but  kind  words  and  bright 
smiles  were  as  natural  to  her  as  fragrance  to  flowers,  or  music 
to  birds.  She  never  tried  to  win  hearts ;  and  between  you  and 
me,  I  think  that's  the  way  she  did  it. 


THE      FATAL      MARRIAGE.  153 

Grave  discussions  were  often  held  about  Lucy's  future  hus 
band  ;  the  old  maids  scornfully  asserting  that  "  beauties  gener 
ally  pick  up  a  crooked  stick  at  last,"  while  the  younger  ones 
cared  very  little  whom  she  married,  if  she  only  were  married 
and  out  of  their  way.  Meanwhile,  Lucy  smiled  at  her  own 
happy  thoughts,  and  sat  at  her  little  window'  on  pleasant,  summer 
evenings,  watching  for  Harry,  (poor  Harry,)  who,  when  he  came, 
•was  at  a  loss  to  know  if  he  had  ever  given  her  little  heart  one 
flutter,  so  merrily  did  she  laugh  and  chat  with  him.  Skillful 
little  Lucy,  it  was  very  right  you  should  n't  let  him  peep  into 
your  heart  till  he  had  opened  a  window  in  his  own. 

Lucy's  papa  did  n't  approve  of  late  hours  or  lovers  ;  moon 
light  he  considered  but  another  name  for  rheumatism  ;  at  nine 
o'clock,  precisely,  he  rung  the  bell  each  evening  for  family 
prayers  ;  and  when  the  Bible  came  in  lovers  were  expected  to 
go  out :  in  case  they  were  obtuse, — chairs  setback  against  the 
wall,  or  an  extra  lamp  blown  out,  or  the  fire  taken  apart,  were^ 
hints  sufficiently  broad  to  be  understood ;  and  they  generally 
answered  the  purpose.  Miss  Lucy's  little  lamp,  glowing  irn 
mediately  after  from  her  bed-room  window,  gave  the  finale 
to  the  "Mede  and  Persian"  order  of  Mr.  Lee's  family 
arrangements. 

Still,  Lee  house  was  not  a  hermitage,  by  any  means.  More 
white  cravats  and  black  coats  passed  over  "Deacon"  Lee's 
threshold,  than  into  any  hotel  in  Yankeedom.  Little  Lucy's 
mother,  too,  was  a  modern  Samaritan,  never  weary  of  experi 
menting  on  their  dyspeptic  and  bronchial  affections ;  while  Lucy 
herself  (bless  her  kind  heart)  knew  full  well  that  two-thirds  of 


154  THE     FATAL     MAHHIAGK. 

them  had  large  families,  empty  purses,  and  more  Judases  and 
Paul  Prys  than  "  Aarons  and  Hurs"  in  their  congregations. 

Among  the  habitues  of  Lee  house,  none  were  so  acceptable 
to  Lucy's  father,  as  Mr.  Ezekiel  Clark,  a  bachelor  of  fifty,  an  ex- 
minister,  and  now  an  agent  for  some  "  Benevolent  Society." 
Ezekiel  had  an  immensely  solemn  face ;  and  behind  this  con 
venient  mask  he  was  enabled  to  carry  out,  undetected,  various 
little  plans,  ostensibly  for  the  "society's"  benefit,  but  privately 
—  for  his  own  personal  aggrandizement.  When  Ezekiel's  opin 
ion  was  asked,  he  crossed  his  hands  and  feet,  and  fastened  his 
eyes  upon  the  wall,  in  an  attitude  of  the  deepest  abstraction, 
while  his  questioner  stood  on  one  leg,  awaiting,  with  the  most 
intense  anxiety,  the  decision  of  such  an  oracular  Solomon. 
Well,  not  to  weary  you,  the  long  and  short  of  it  was,  that 
Solomon  was  a  stupid  fool,  who  spent  his  time  trying  to 
humbug  the  religious  public  in  general,  and  Deacon  Lee  in  par 
ticular,  into  the  belief  that  had  he  been  consulted  before  this 
world  was  made,  he  could  have  suggested  great  and  manifold 
improvements.  As  to  Deacon  Lee,  no  cat  ever  tossed  a  poor 
mouse  more  dexterously  than  he  played  with  the  deacon's  free 
will ;  all  the  while  very  demurely  pocketing  the  spoils  in  the 
sh^pe  of  " donations "  to  the  "society,"  with  which  he  appeased 
his  washerwoman  and  tailor,  and  transported  himself  across  the 
country,  on  trips  to  Newport,  Saratoga,  &c.,  &c. 

His  favorite  plan  was  yet  to  be  carried  out ;  which  was  no 
more  or  less  than  a  modest  request  for  the  deacon's  pretty 
daughter,  Lucy,  in  marriage.  Mr.  Lee  rubbed  his  chin,  and 
said,  "  Lucy  was  nothing  but  a  foolish  little  girl ;  "  but  Ezekiel 


THE     FATAL     MARRIAGE.  155 

overruled  it,  by  remarking  that  that  was  so  much  the  more 
reason  shi  should  have  a  husband  some  years  her  senior,  with 
some  knowledge  of.  the  world,  qualified  to  check  and  advise 
her ;  to  all  of  which,  after  an  extra  pinch  of  snuff,  and  another 
look  into  Ezekiel's  oracular  face,  Deacon  Lee  assented. 

Poor  little  Lucy !  Ezekiel  knew  very  well  that  her  father's 
word  was  law,  and  when  Mr.  Lee  announced  him  as  her  future 
husband,  she  knew  she  was  just  as  much  Mrs.  Ezekiel  Clark,  as 
if  the  bridal  ring  had  been  already  slipped  on  her  fairy  finger. 
She  sighed  heavily,  to  be  sure,  and  patted  her  little  foot  ner 
vously,  and  when  she  handed  him  his  tea,  thought  he  looked 
older  than  ever ;  while  Ezekiel  swallowed  one  cup  after  an 
other,  till  his  eyes  snapped  and  glowed  like  a  panther's  in  am 
bush.  That  night  poor  Lucy  pressed  her  lips  to  a  faded  rose, 
the  gift  of  Harry  Graham  ;  then,  cried  herself  to  sleep! 

Unbounded  was  the  indignation  of  Lucy's  admirers,  when 
the  sanctimonious  Ezekiel  was  announced  as  the  expectant 
bridegroom.  Harry  Graham  took  the  first  steamer  for  Eu 
rope,  railing  at  "  woman's  fickleness."  (Consistent  Harry ! 
when  never  a  word  of  love  had  passed  his  moustached  lip.) 

Shall  I  tell  you  how  Ezekiel  was  transformed  into  the  most 
ridiculous  of  lovers  ?  how  his  self-conceit  translated  Lucy's  in 
difference  into  maiden  coyness  1  how  he  looked  often  in  the 
glass  and  thought  he  was  not  so  very  old  after  all  1  how  he  ad 
vised  Lucy  to  tuck  away  all  her  bright  curls,  because  they  "  look 
ed  so  childish?"  how  he  named  to  her  papa  an  "early  mar 
riage  day,"  — not  that  he  felt  nervous  about  losing  his  prize — 


15t)  THE     FATAL     MARRIAGE. 

oh,  no  (?)- — but  because  "the  society's  business  required  his 
undivided  attention." 

•Well;  Lucy,  in  obedience  to  her  father's  orders,  stood  up 
in  her  snow-white  robe,  and  vowed  "to  love  and  cherish"  a 
man  just  her  father's  age,  with  whom  she  had  not  the  slightest 
congeniality  of  taste  or  feeling.  But  papa  had  said  it  was  an 
excellent  match,  and  Lucy  never  gainsayed  papa ;  still,  her 
long  lashes  drooped  heavily  over  her  blue  eyes,  and  her  hand 
trembled,  and  her  cheek  grew  deathly  pale,  as  Ezekiel  handed 
her  to  the  carriage  that  whirled  them  rapidly  away. 

Shall  I  tell  you  how  long  months  and  years  dragged  wearily 
on  1  how  Lucy  saw  through  her  husband's  mask  of  hypocrisy 
and  self-conceit?  how  to  indifference  succeeded  disgust]  how 
Harry  Graham  returned  from  Europe,  with  a  fair  young  Eng 
lish  bride  ?  how  Lucy  grew  nervous  and  hysterical  1  how  Eze 
kiel  soon  wearied  of  his  sick  wife,  and  left  her  in  one  of  those 
tombs  for  the  wretched,  an  insane  hospital  ?  and  how  she  wasted, 
day  by  day — then  died,  with  only  a  hired  nurse  to  close  those 
weary  blue  eyes? 

In  a  quiet  corner  of  the  old  churchyard  where  Lucy  sleeps,  a 
silver-haired  old  man,  each  night  at  dew-fall,  paces  to  and  fro, 
with  remorseless  tread,  as  if  by  that  weary  vigil  he  would  fain 
atone  to  the  unconscious  sleeper,  for  turning  her  sweet  young 
life  to  bitterness. 


FRANCES  SARGEANT  OSGOOD. 

"I'm  passing  tlirough  the  eternal  gates, 
Ere  June's  sweet  roses  blow." 

So  sang  the  dying  poetess.  The  "  eternal  gates  "  have  closed 
upon  her.  Those  dark,  soul-lit  eyes  beam  upon  us  no  more. 
"  June  "  has  come  again,  with  its  "  sweet  roses,"  its  birds,  its 
zephyrs,  its  flowers  and  fragrance.  It  is  such  a  day  as  her  pas 
sionate  heart  would  have  reveled  in  —  a  day  of  Eden-like  fresh 
ness  and  beauty.  I  will  gather  some  fair,  sweet  flowers,  and 
visit  her  grave. 

"  Show  me  Mrs.  Fanny  Osgood's  monument,  please,"  said  I 
to  the  rough  gardener,  who  was  spading  the  turf  in  Mount 
Auburn. 

"  In  Orange  Avenue,  Ma'am,"  he  replied,  respectfully  indica 
ting,  with  a  wave  of  the  hand,  the  path  I  was  to  pursue. 

Tears  started  to  my  eyes,  as  I  trod  reverently  down  the 
quiet  path.  The  little  birds  she  loved  so  well,  were  skim 
ming  confidingly  and  joyously  along  before  me,  and  singing  as 
merrily  as  if  my  heart  echoed  back  their  gleeful  songs. 

I  approached  the  enclosure,  as  the  gardener  had  directed  me. 
There  were  five  graves.  In  which  slept  the  poetess  1  for  there 
was  not  even  a  headstone !  The  flush  of  indignant  feeling 


158  MRS.      OSGOOD. 

mounted  to  my  cemples  ;  the  warm  tears  started  from  my  eyes. 
She  was  forgotten  !  Sweet,  gifted  Fanny  !  in  her  own  family 
burial  place  she  was  forgotten!  The  stranger  from  a  distance, 
who  had  worshiped  her  genius,  might  in  vain  make  a  pilgrim 
age  to  do  her  honor.  I,  who  had  personally  known  and  loved 
her,  had  not  even  the  poor  consolation  of  decking  the  bosom 
of  her  grave  with  the  flowers  I  had  gathered ;  I  could  not 
kiss  the  turf  beneath  which  she  is  reposing ;  I  could  not  drop  a 
tear  on  the  sod,  'neath  which  her  remains  are  mouldering  back 
to  their  native  dust.  I  could  not  tell,  (though  I  so  longed  to 
know,)  in  which  of  the  little  graves  —  for  there  were  several — 
slept  her  "  dear  May,"  her  "  pure  Ellen ; "  the  little,  timid, 
household  doves,  who  folded  their  weary  wings  when  the  parent 
bird  was  stricken  down,  by  the  aim  of  the  unerring  Archer. 

Though  allied  by  no  tie  of  blood  to  the  gifted  creature,  who, 
somewhere,  lay  sleeping  there,  I  felt  the  flush  of  shame  mount 
to  my  temples,  to  turn  away  and  leave  her  dust  so  unhonored. 
Oh,  God  !  to  be  so  soon  forgotten  by  all  the  world  !  —  How 
can  even  earth  look  so  glad,  when  such  a  warm,  passionate 
heart  lies  cold  and  pulseless  1  Poor,  gifted,  forgotten  Fanny! 
She  "  still  lives  "  in  my  heart ;  and,  Reader,  glance  your  eye 
over  these  touching  lines,  "  written  during  her  last  illness,"  and 
tell  me,  Shall  she  not  also  live  in  thine  ? 


nits.    os  GOOD.  159 

A  MOTHER'S  PRAYER  IX  ILLXES8. 

BY    MRS.    OSGOOD. 

YES  !  take  them  first,  my  Father !  Let  my  doves 

Fold  their  white  wings  in  Heaven  safe  on  thy  breast, 

Ere  I  am  called  away !     I  dare  not  leave 

Their  young  hearts  here,  their  innocent,  thoughtless  hearts  1 

Ah  !  how  the  shadowy  train  of  future  ills 

Comes  sweeping  down  life's  vista,  as  I  gaze  ? 

My  May  !  my  careless,  ardent-tempered  May  ; 

My  frank  and  frolic  child !   in  whose  blue  eyes 

Wild  joy  and  passionate  woe  alternate  rise; 

Whose  cheek,  the  morning  in  her  soul  illumes  ; 

Whose  little,  loving  heart,  a  word,  a  glance, 

Can  sway  to  grief  or  glee ;  who  leaves  her  play, 

And  puts  up  her  sweet  mouth  and  dimpled  arms 

Each  moment,  for  a  kiss,  and  softly  asks, 

With  her  clear,  flute-like  voice,  "Do  you  love  me  f  " 
Ah  !  let  me  stay  !  ah !  let  me  still  be  by, 
To  answer  her,  and  meet  her  warm  caress! 
For,  I  away,  how  oft,  in  this  rough  world, 

That  earnest  question  will  be  asked  in  vain ! 

How  oft  that  oager,  passionate,  petted  heart 

Will  shrink  abashed  and  chilled,  to  learn,  at  length, 

The  hateful,  withering  lesson  of  distrust ! 

Ah  !  let  her  nestle  still  upon  this  breast, 

In  which  each  shade  that  dims  her  darling  face 

Is  felt  and  answered,  as  the  lake  reflects 

The  clouds  that  cross  yon  smiling  Heaven 

And  thou, 

My  modest  Ellen  !  tender,  thoughtful,  true, 
Thy  soul  attuned  to  all  sweet  harmonies; 
My  pure,  proud,  noble  Ellen !  with  thy  gifts 
Of  genius,  grace  and  loveliness  half-hidden 
'Xeath  the  soft  vail  of  innate  modesty: 


160  MRS.    OSGOOD. 

How  •will  the  world's  wild  discord  reach  thy  heart, 

To  startle  and  appal !     Thy  generous  scorn 

Of  all  things  base  and  mean — thy  quick,  keen  taste, 

Dainty  and  delicate  —  thy  instinctive  fear 

Of  those  unworthy  of  a  soul  so  pure, 

Thy  rare,  unchildlike  dignity  of  mien, 

All  —  they  will  all  bring  pain  to  thee,  my  child. 

And  oh !  if  ever  their  grace  and  goodness  meet 
Cold  looks  and  careless  greetings,  how  will  all 
The  latent  evil  yet  undisciplined 
In  their  young,  timid  souls  forgiveness  find  ? 
Forgiveness  and  forbearance,  and  soft  chidings, 
Which  I,  their  mother,  learn'd  of  love,  to  give. 
Ah  !  let  me  stay  !  albeit  my  heart  is  weary, 
Weary  and  worn,  tired  of  its  own  sad  beat, 
That  finds  no  echo  in  this  busy  world 

Which  cannot  pause  to  answei tired,  alike, 

Of  joy  and  sorrow  —  of  the  day  and  night! 

Ah !   take  them.  FIRST,  my  Father  I  and  then  me  • 

And  for  their  sakes  —  for  their  sweet  sakes,,  my  Father  1 

Let  me  fird  rest  beside  them,  at  thy  feet. 


BEST    THINGS. 

I  HAVE  a  horror  of  "  best "  things,  come  they  in  the  shape  of 
shoes,  garments,  bonnets  or  rooms.  In  such  a  harness  my 
soul  peers  restlessly  out,  asking  "  if  I  be  I."  I  'm  puzzled  to  find 
myself.  I  become  stiff  and  formal  and  artificial  as  my  sur 
roundings. 

But  of  all  the  best  things,  spare  me  the  infliction  of  a  "  best 
room."  Out  upon  a  carpet  too  fine  to  tread  upon,  books  too 
dainty  to  handle,  sofas  that  but  mock  your  weary  limbs,  and 
curtains  that  dare  not  face  a  ray  of  sunlight ! 

Had  I  a  house,  there  should  be  no  "  best  room  "  in  it.  No 
upholsterer  should  exorcise  comfort,  or  children,  from  my  door- 
sill.  The  free,  fresh  air  should  be  welcome  to  play  through  it ; 
the  bright,  glad  sunshine  to  lighten  and  warm  it ;  while  fresh 
mantel-flowers  should  woo  us  visits  from  humming-bird  and 
drowsy  bee. 

For  pictures,  I  'd  look  from  out  my  windows,  upon  a  land 
scape  painted  by  the  Great  Master — ever  fresh,  ever  varied,  and 
never  marred  by  envious  "  cross  lights  ;  "  now,  wreathed  in 
morning's  silvery  mist ;  now,  basking  in  noon's  broad  beam  ; 
now,  flushed  with  sunset's  golden  glow ;  now,  sleeping  in 

dreamy  moonlight. 
lib 


162  BEST     TI1INGS. 

For  statuary,  fill  my  house  with  children  —  rosy,  dimpled, 
laughing  children  ;  now,  tossing  their  sunny  ringlets  from  open 
brows;  now,  vailing  their  merry  eyes  in  slumberous  dreams, 
'ncath  snow-white  lids ;  now,  sweetly  grave,  on  bended  knee, 
with  clasped  hands,  and  lisped  words  of  holy  prayer. 

Did  I  say  I  'd  have  nothing  "  best  ?  "  Pardon  me.  Sunday 
should  be  the  best  day  of  all  the  seven  —  not  ushered  in  with 
ascetic  form,  or  lengthened  face,  or  stiff  and  rigid  manners. 
Sweetly  upon  the  still  Sabbath  air  should  float  the  matin  hymn 
of  happy  childhood  ;  blending  with  early  song  of  birds,  and 
wafted  upward,  with  flowers'  incense,  to  Him  whose  very  name 
is  LOVE.  It  should  be  no  day  for  puzzling  the  half-developed 
brain  of  childhood  with  gloomy  creeds,  to  shake  the  simple 
faith  that  prompts  the  innocent  lips  to  say,  "  Our  Father."  It 
should  be  no  day  to  sit  upright  on  stiff-backed  chairs,  till  the 
golden  sun  should  set.  No ;  the  birds  should  not  be  more 
'welcome  to  warble,  the  flowers  to  drink  in  the  air  and 
sunlight,  or  the  trees  to  toss  their  lithe  limbs,  free  and 
fetterless. 

"  I  'm  so  sorry  that  to-morrow  is  Sunday ! "  From  whence 
does  this  sad  lament  issue  1  From  under  your  roof,  oh  mista 
ken  but  well-meaning  Christian  parents  —  from  the  lips  of  your 
child,  whom  you  compel  to  listen  to  two  or  three  unintelligible 
sermons,  sandwiched  between  Sunday  schools,  and  finished  off 
at  nightfall  by  tedious  repetitions  of  creeds  and  catechisms,  till 
sleep  releases  your  weary  victim !  No  wonder  your  child 
shudders,  when  the  minister  tells  him  that  "  Heaven  is  one 
eternal  Sabbath." 


BEST    THINGS.  163 

Oh,  mistaken  parent!  relax  the  over-strained  bow — prevent 
the  fearful  rebound,  and  make  the  Sabbath  what  God  designed 
it,  not  a  weariness,  but  the  "  best "  and  happiest  day  of  all  the 
seven. 


THE    VESTRY    MEETING. 

THE  clock  had  just  struck  seven.  The  sharp-nosed  old  sexton 
of  the  Steeple-Street  Church  had  arranged  the  lights  to  his 
mind,  determined  the  proper  latitude  and  longitude  of  Bibles 
and  hymn-books,  peeped  curiously  into  the  little  black  stove  in 
the  corner,  and  was  now  admonishing  every  person  who  passed 
in,  of  the  propriety  of  depositing  the  "  free  soil "  on  his  boots 
upon  the  entry  door-mat. 

In  they  crept,  one  after  another  —  pale-faced  seamstresses, 
glad  of  a  reprieve ;  servant  girls,  who  had  turned  their  backs 
upon  unwashed  dishes  ;  mothers,  whose  "  crying  babies  "  were 
astounding  the  neighbors ;  old  maids,  who  had  nowhere  to 
spend  their  long  evenings  ;  widowers,  who  felt  an  especial  solici 
tude  lest  any  of  the  sisters  should  be  left  to  return  home  unpro 
tected  ;  girls  and  boys,  who  came  because  they  were  bid,  and 
who  had  no  very  clear  idea  of  the  performances ;  and  last, 
though  not  least,  Ma'am  Spy,  who  thought  it  her  duty  to  see 
that  none  of  the  church-members  were  missing,  and  to  inquire 
every  Tuesday  night,  of  her  friend  Miss  Prim,  if  she  did  n't 
consider  Mrs.  Violet  a  proper  subject  for  church  discipline,  be 
cause  she  always  had  money  enough  to  pay  her  board  bills, 
although  her  husband  had  deserted  her. 

Then  there  were  'the  four  Misses  Nipper,  who  crawled  in  as  if 


THE     VESTRY     MEETING.  165 

the  vestry  floor  were  paved  with  live  kittens,  and  who  had  never 
been  known,  for  four  years,  to  vary  one  minute  in  their  attend 
ance,  or  to  keep  awake  from  the  first  prayer  to  the  doxology. 

Then,  there  was  Mrs.  John  Emmons,  who  sang  the  loudest, 
and  prayed  the  longest,  and  wore  the  most  expensive  bonnets, 
of  any  female  member  in  the  church  —  whose  name  was  on 
every  committee,  who  instituted  the  select  praying  circle  for 
the  more  aristocratic  portion  of  the  parish,  and  whose  pertina 
cious  determination  to  sit  next  to  her  husband  at  the  Tuesday 
night  meeting,  was  regarded  by  the  uninitiated  as  a  beautiful 
proof  of  conjugal  devotion ;  but  which,  after  patient  investiga 
tion,  (between  you  and  me,  dear  reader,)  was  found  to  be  for 
the  purpose  of  arresting  his  coatrflaps  when  he  popped  up  to 
make  mental  shipwreck  of  himself  by  making  a  speech. 

Then,  there  was  Mr.  Nobbs,  whose  remarks  were  a  re-hash 
of  the  different  religious  periodicals  of  the  day,  diversified  with 
misapplied  texts  of  Scripture,  and  delivered  with  an  intonation 
and  gesticulation  that  would  have  given  Demosthenes  fits. 

Then,  there  was  Zebedee  FalstafF,  who  accomplished  more 
for  the  amelioration  of  the  human  race  (according  to  his  own 
account)  than  any  man  of  his  aldermanic  proportions  in  the 
nation,  and  who  delivered  (on  a  hearty  supper)  a  sleepy  ex 
hortation  on  the  duties  of  self-denial  and  charity,  much  to  the 
edification  of  one  of  his  needy  relatives,  to  whose  tearful  story 
he  had  that  very  day  turned  a  deaf  ear. 

Then,  there  was  Brother  Higgins,  who  was  always  "  just  go 
ing  "  to  make  a  speech,  "  if  brother  Thomas  had  n't  so  exactly 
anticipated  his  sentiments  a  minute  before.'' 


166  THE      VESTHV     MEETING. 

Then,  there  was  Mr.  Addison  Theophilus  Shakspeare  Milton, 
full  of  poetical  and  religious  inspiration,  who  soared  so  high  in 
the  realms  of  fancy,  that  his  hearers  lost  sight  of  him. 

Then,  there  was  little  Dr.  Pillbox,  who  gave  us  every  proof 
in  his  weekly  exhortations  of  his  knowledge  of  "  drugs,"  not 
to  mention  young  Smith,  who  chased  an  idea  round  till  he  lost 
it,  and  then  took  shelter  behind  a  bronchial  difficulty  which 
compelled  him,  "  unwillingly  (?)  to  come  to  a  close." 

Then,  there  were  some  sincere,  good-hearted  Christians  — 
respectable  citizens  —  worthy  heads  of  families ;  but  whose  lips 
had  never  been  "  touched  with  a  live  coal  from  off  the  altar." 
Where  was  the  pastor?  Oh,  he  was  there  —  a  slight, 
fragile,  scholar-like  looking  man,  with  a  fine  intellectual  face, 
exquisitely  refined  tastes  and  sensibilities,  and  the  meek 
spirit  of  "  the  Master."  Had  those  slender  shoulders  no  cross 
to  bear  ?  When  chance  sent  some  fastidious  worldling  through 
that  vestry  door,  did  it  cost  him  nothing  to  watch  the  smile 
of  contempt  curl  the  stranger's  lip,  as  some  uneducated,  but 
well-meaning  layman,  presented  with  stammering  tongue,  in 
ongrammatical  phrase,  distorted,  one-sided,  bigoted  views  of 
great  truths  which  his  eloquent  tongue  might  have  made  as 
clear  as  the  noon-day,  and  as  cheering  and  welcome  as  heaven's 
own  blessed  light,  to  the  yearning,  dissatisfied  spirit?  Oh,  is 
there  nothing  in  religion,  when  it  can  so  subdue  the  pride  of 
intellect  as  to  enable  its  professor  to  disregard  the  stammering 
tongue,  and  sit  meekly  at  the  feet  of  the  ignorant  disciple  be 
cause  he  is  a  disciple  ? 


A    BROADWAY    SHOP    REVERIE. 

FORTY  DOLXARS  for  a  pocket-handkerchief!  My  dear 
woman !  you  need  a  straight-jacket,  even  though  you  may  be 
the  fortunate  owner  of  a  dropsical  purse. 

I  won't  allude  to  the  legitimate  use  of  a  pocket-handkerchief; 
I  won't  speak  of  the  sad  hearts  that  "  forty  dollars,"  in  the  hands 
of  some  philanthropist,  might  lighten;  I  won't  speak  of  the 
"  crows'  feet "  that  will  be  penciled  on  your  fair  face,  when  your 
laundress  carelessly  sticks  the  point  of  her  remorseless  smooth 
ing  iron  through  the  flimsy  fabric,  or  the  constant  espionage  you 
must  keep  over  your  treasure,  in  omnibuses,  or  when  prome 
nading  ;  but  I  will  ask  you  how  many  of  the  lords  of  creation, 
for  whose  especial  benefit  you.array  yourself,  will  know  whether 
that  cobweb  rag  fluttering  in  your  hand  cost  forty  dollars,  or 
forty  cents? 

Pout  if  you  like,  and  toss  your  head,  and  say  that  you  "  don't 
dress  to  please  the  gentlemen."  I  don't  hesitate  to  tell  you  (at 

this  distance  from  your  finger  nails)  that  is  a  downright 

mistake !  and  that  the  enormous  sums  most  women  expend  for 
articles,  the  cost  of  which  few,  save  shop-keepers  and  butterfly 
feminities,  know,  is  both  astounding  and  ridiculous. 

True,  you  have  the  sublime  gratification  of  flourishing  your 


168  A     BROADWAY     SHOP     REVERIE. 

forty-dollar  handkerchief,  of  sporting  your  twenty-dollar  "  Honi- 
ton  collar,"  or  of  flaunting  your  thousand-dollar  shawl,  before 
the  envious  and  admiring  eyes  of  some  weak  sister,  who  has 
made  the  possible  possession  of  the  article  in  question  a  pro 
found  and  lifetime  study  ;  you  may  pass,  too,  along  the  crowded 
pavt,  laboring  under  the  hallucination,  that  every  passer-by 
appreciates  your  dry-goods  value.  Not  a  bit  of  it !  Yonder 
is  a  group  of  gentlemen.  You  pass  them  in  your  promenade  ; 
they  glance  carelessly  at  your  tout-ensemble,  but  their  eyes  rest 
admiringly  on  a  figure  close  behind  you.  It  will  chagrin  you 
to  learn  that  this  locomotive  loadstone  has  on  a  seventy -five 
cent  hat,  of  simple  straw  —  a  dress  of  lawn,  one  shilling  per 
yard  —  a  twenty-five  cent  collar,  and  a  shawl  of  the  most  un 
pretending  price  and  fabric. 

All  these  items  you  take  in  at  a  glance,  as  you  turn  upon  her 
your  aristocratic  eye  of  feminine  criticism  to  extract,  if  possible, 
the  talismanic  secret  of  her  magnetism.  What  is  it  1  Let  me 
tell  you.  Nature,  willful  dame,  has  an  aristocracy  of  her  own, 
and  in  one  of  her  independent  freaks  has  so  daintily  fashioned 
your  rival's  limbs,  that  the  meanest  garb  could  not  mar  a  grace, 
nor  the  costliest  fabric  add  one.  Compassionating  her  slender 
purse,  nature  has  also  added  an  artistic  eye,  which  accepts  or 
rejects  fabrics  and  colors  with  unerring  taste ;  hence  her  apparel 
is  always  well  chosen  and  harmonious,  producing  the  effect  of  a 
rich  toilet  at  the  cost  of  "  a  mere  song ;"  and  as  she  sweeps  ma 
jestically  past,  one  understands  why  Dr.  Johnson  pronounced 
a  woman  to  be  "  perfectly  dressed  when  one  could  never  re 
member  what  she  wore." 


A     BROADWAY     SHOP     REVERIE.  169 

Now,  I  grant  you,  it  is  very  provoking  to  be  eclipsed  by  a 
star  without  a  name  —  moving  out  of  the  sphere  of  "  upper- 
ten"-dom  —  a  woman  who  never  wore  a  "  camel's  hair  shawl," 
or  owned  a  diamond  in  her  life ;  after  the  expense  you  have 
incurred,  too,  and  the  fees  you  have  paid  to  Madame  Pompa 
dour  and  Stewart  for  the  first  choice  of  their  Parisian  fooleries. 
It  is  harrowing  to  the  sensibilities.  I  appreciate  the  awkward 
ness  of  your  position ;  still,  my  compassion  jogs  my  invention 
vainly  for  a  remedy  —  unless,  indeed,  you  consent  to  crush 
such  democratic  presumption,  by  labelling  the  astounding  price 
of  the  dry-goods  upon  your  aristocratic  back. 

H 


"THE    OLD    WOMAN." 

LOOK  into  yonder  window !  What  do  you  see  1  Nothing 
new,  surely ;  nothing  but  what  the  angels  have  looked  smilingly 
down  upon  since  the  morning  stars  first  sang  together ;  nothing 
but  a  loving  mother  hushing  upon  her  faithful  breast  a  wailing 
babe,  whose  little  life  hangs  by  a  slender  thread.  Mortal  lips 
have  said,  "  The  boy  must  die ! " 

A  mother's  hope  never  dies.  She  clasps  him  closer  to  her 
breast,  and  gazes  upward ;  —  food  and  sleep  and  rest  are  for 
gotten,  so  that  that  little  flickering  taper  die  not  out.  Gently 
upon  her  soft,  warm  breast  she  wooes  for  it  baby  slumbers ; 
long,  weary  nights,  up  and  down  the  cottage  floor  she  paces, 
soothing  its  restless  moaning.  Suns  rise  and  set  —  stars  pale  — 
seasons  come  and  go ;  —  she  heeds  them  not,  so  that  those  lan 
guid  eyes  but  beam  brightness.  Down  the  meadow  —  by  the 
brook  —  on  the  hill-side  —  she  seeks  with  him  the  health-restor 
ing  breeze. 

God  be  praised !  —  health  comes  at  last !  What  joy  to  see 
the  rosy  flush  mantle  on  the  pallid  cheek  !  —  what  joy  to  see  the 
shrunken  limbs  grow  round  with  health  !  —  what  joy  to  see  the 
damp,  thin  locks  grow  crisp  and  glossy  ! 

What  matter  though  the  knitting  lie  neglected,  or  the  spin- 


"  T  H  E     OLD     W  0  M  A  N  ."  171 

ning-wheel  be  dumb,  so  that  the  soaring  kite  or  bouncing  ball 
but  please  his  boyish  fancy,  and  prompt  the  gleeful  shout? 
What  matter  that  the  coarser  fare  be  hers,  so  that  the  daintier 
morsel  pass  his  rosy  lip  1  What  matter  that  her  robe  be 
threadbare,  so  that  his  graceful  limbs  be  clad  in  Joseph's  rain 
bow  coat "?  What  matter  that  her  couch  be  hard,  so  that  his 
sunny  head  rest  nightly  on  a  downy  pillow  1  What  matter 
that  her  slender  purse  be  empty,  so  that  his  childish  heart  may 
never  know  denial  ? 


Years  roll  on.  That  loving  mother's  eye  grows  dim ;  her 
glossy  locks  are  silvered ;  her  limbs  are  sharp  and  shrunken ; 
her  footsteps  slow  and  tottering.  And  the  boy  1  —  the  cherished 
Joseph  1  —  he  of  the  bold,  bright  eye,  and  sinewy  limb,  and 
bounding  step  ?  Surely,  from  his  kind  hand  shall  flowers  be 
strewn  on  the  dim,  downward  path  to  the  dark  valley  ;  surely 
will  her  son's  strong  arm  be  hers  to  lean  on ;  his  voice  of  mu 
sic  sweeter  to  her  dull  ear  than  seraphs'  singing. 

No,  no !  —  the  hum  of  busy  life  has  struck  upon  his  ear, 
drowning  the  voice  of  love.  He  has  become  a  MAX  !  refined, 
fastidious  !  —  and  to  his  forgetful,  unfilial  heart,  (God  forgive 
him,)  the  mother  who  bore  him  is  only  —  "  the  old  wotnan!" 


SUNDAY    MORNING  AT  THE    DIBDINS. 

"  JANE,"  (suddenly  exclaims  Mrs.  Dibdin,)  "  do  you  know  it 
is  nearly  time  for  your  Sabbath  School  to  commence  1  I  hope 
you  have  committed  your  hymns  and  commandments  to  mem 
ory.  Put  on  your  little  jet  bracelet,  and  your  ruffled  panta 
lettes.  Now,  say  the  third  commandment,  while  I  fix  your 
curls.  It  does  seem  to  me  as  if  your  hair  never  curls  half  as 
well  on  Sundays  as  on  week  days.  Mind,  you  ask  Letty 
Brown  where  her  mother  bought  that  cunning  little  straw  hat 
of  hers,  —  not  in  Sabbath  School,  of  course  —  that  would  be 
very  wicked  —  but  after  it  is  over,  as  you  walk  along  to 
church. 

"  Jane,  what 's  the  chief  end  of  man  1  Don't  know  1  Well, 
h'sthe  most  astonishing  thing  that  that  Assembly's  Catechism 
don't  stay  in  your  head  any  better !  It  seems  to  go  into  one  ear 
and  out  of  the  other.  Now  pay  particular  attention  while  I  tell 
you  what  the  chief  end  of  man  is.  The  chief  end  of  man  is  —  is 
— well — I — why  don't  you  hold  still  ?  —  you  are  always  putting 
a  body  out !  You  had  better  run  up  stairs  and  get  your  book. 
Here,  stop  a  minute,  and  let  me  tie  your  sash  straight.  Pink  is 
very  becoming  to  you,  Jane  ;  you  inherit  your  mother's  blonde 
beauty.  Come  away  from  that  glass,  Jane,  this  minute ;  don't 


8  U  >*  D  A  Y    M  0  11  X  I  X  G    AT    THE    D  I  B  D  I  X  S  .  173 

you  know  it  is  wicked  to  look  in  the  glass  on  Sunday '?  See  if 
you  can  say  your  '  creed '  that  your  Episcopal  teacher  wants 
you  to  learn.  Come  ;  '  I  believe '  —  (In  less  than  one  week 
your  toes  will  be  through  those  drab  gaiters,  Jane.)  Goodness, 
if  there  is  n't  the  bell !  Why  did  n't  you  get  your  lesson  Sat 
urday  evening  1  Oh  !  I  recollect ;  you  were  at  dancing  school. 
Well  —  you  need  n't  say  anything  about  that  to  your  teacher ; 
because  —  because  there 's  '  a  time  to  dance,'  and  a  time  to  go 
to  meeting,  and  now  it  is  meeting  time ;  so,  come  here,  and  let 
me  roll  that  refractory  ringlet  over  my  finger  once  more,  and 
then,  do  you  walk  solemnly  along  to  church,  as  a  baptised  child 
should. 

"  Here  !  stop  a  bit !  —  you  may  wear  this  coral  bracelet  of 
mine,  if  you  won't  lose  it.  There ;  now  you  look  most  as 
pretty  as  your  mother  did,  when  she  was  your  age.  Don't 
toss  your  head  so,  Jane  ;  people  will  call  you  vain  ;  and  you 
know  I  have  always  told  you  that  it  makes  very  little  differ 
ence  how  a  little  girl  looks,  if  she  is  only  a  little  Christian. 
There,  good-bye ;  —  repeat  your  catechism,  going  along ;  and 
don't  let  die  wind  blow  your  hair  out  of  curl." 


SUNDAY    NOON    AT   THE    DIBDINS. 

(J/r.  Dibdin  reading  a  pile  of  business  letters,  fresh  from  the  post- 
office  ;  Mrs.  Dibdin,  in  a  pearl-colored  brocade  and  lace  ruffles,  de 
vouring  "Bleak  House") 

Mrs.  Dibdin.  —  "Jane,  is  it  possible  I  see  you  on  the  holy 
Sabbath  day,  with  Mother  Goose's  Melodies  ?     Put  it  away, 


174  SUNDAY    MORNING    AT    THE    DIBDINS. 

this  minute,  and  get  your  Bible.  There  's  the  pretty  story  of 
Joseph  building  the  ark,  and  Noah  in  the  lion's  den,  and  Isaac 
killing  his  brother  Cain,  and  all  that," 

Jane.  —  "  Well,  but,  mamma,  you  know  I  can't  spell  the  big 
words.  Won't  you  read  it  to  me  1 " 

Mrs.  Dibdin.  —  "I  am  busy  reading  now,  my  dear ;  go 
and  ask  your  papa." 

Jane.  — "  Please,  papa,  will  you  read  to  me  in  my  little 
Bible  1  mamma  is  busy." 

Mr.  Dibdin.  —  "  My  dear,  will  you  be  kind  enough  to  pull 
that  bell  for  Jane's  nursery  maid  1  —  she  is  getting  trouble 
some." 

******** 

Exit  Miss  Jane  to  the  nursery,  to  listen  to  Katy's  and  her 
friend  Bridget's  account  of  their  successful  flirtations  with  John 
O'Calligan  and  Michael  O'Donahue. 


ITEMS    OF    TRAVEL. 

"ALL  the  world  and  his  wife  "  are  travelling ;  and  a  nice  day 
it  is  to  commence  a  journey.  How  neat  and  tasteful  those 
ladies  look  in  their  drab  travelling  dresses ;  how  self-satisfied 
their  cavaliers,  freshly  shaved  and  shampooed,  in  their  brown 
linen  over-alls.  What  apoplectic  looking  carpet-bags  ;  full  of 
newspapers,  and  oranges,  and  bon-bons,  and  novels,  and  night 
caps  !  Saratoga,  Newport,  Niagara,  White  Hills,  Mammoth 
Cave  —  of  these,  the  ladies  chatter. 

Well,  here  come  the  cars.  Band-boxes,  trunks,  baskets,  and 
bundles  are  counted,  and  checks  taken ;  a  grave  discussion  is 
solemnly  held,  as  to  which  side  of  the  cars  the  sun  shines  on ; 
seats  are  chosen  with  due  deliberation,  and  the  locomotive  does 
its  own  "  puffing  "  to  the  bystanders,  and  darts  off. 

It  is  noon !  How  intense  the  heat ;  how  annoying  the  dust ; 
how  crowded  the  cars ;  how  incessant  the  cries  of  that  poor 
tired  baby  !  The  ladies'  bonnets  are  getting  awry,  their  fore 
heads  flushed,  and  their  smooth  tresses  unbecomingly  frowsed, 
(see  Fern  Dictionary.)  Now  their  little  chattering  tongues 
have  a  reprieve,  for  Slumber  has  laid  her  leaden  finger  on  each 
drooping  eyelid :  even  Alexander  Smith's  new  poem  has  slidden 
from  between  taper  fingers.  Dream  not  lovingly  of  the  author, 


176  ITEMS    OF    TRAVEL. 

fair  sleeper :  poets  and  butterflies  lose  their  brilliancy  when 
caught. 

How  intensely  ugly  men  look  asleep  !  doubled  up  like  so 
many  jack-knives  —  sorry  looking  "  blades  "  —  with  their 
mouths  wide  open,  and  their  limbs  twisted  into  all  sorts  of 
Protean  shapes.  Stay ;  there 's  one  in  yonder  comer  who  is 
an  exception.  That  man  knows  it  is  becoming  to  him  to  go  to 
sleep.  He  has  laid  his  head  against  the  window  and  taken  off 
his  hat,  that  the  wind  might  lift  those  black  curls  from  his  broad 
white  brow ;  —  he  knows  that  his  eye-lashes  are  long  and  dark, 
and  that  his  finely  chiselled  lips  need  no  defect-concealing  mous 
tache  ;  —  he  knows  that  he  can  afford  to  turn  towards  us  his 
fine  profile,  with  its  classical  outline  ;  —  he  knows  that  his  cra 
vat  is  well  tied,  and  that  the  hand  upon  which  he  supports  his 
cheek  is  both  well-formed  and  daintily  white.  Wonder  if  he 
knows  anything  else  ? 

We  halt  suddenly.  "  Back  !  back  !  "  says  the  conductor. 
The  sleepers  start  to  their  feet ;  the  old  maid  in  the  corner 
gives  a  little  hysterical  shriek ;  brakemen,  conductoi-,  and  engi 
neer  jump  off,  push  back  their  hats,  and  gaze  nervously  down 
the  road.  "  What 's  the  matter  1 "  echo  scores  of  anxious 
voices.  "  What 's  the  matter  ?  "  Oh,  nothing  ;  only  a  mother 
made  childless :  only  a  little  form  —  five  minutes  ago  bounding 
with  happy  life  —  lying  a  mangled  corpse  upon  the  track. 
The  engineer  says,  with  an  oath,  that  "  the  child  was  a  fool 
not  to  get  out  of  the  way,"  and  sends  one  of  the  hands  back  to 
pick  up  the  dismembered  limbs  and  carry  them  to  its  mother, 
who  forbade  even  the  winds  of  heaven  to  blow  too  roughly  on 


ITEMS     OF     T  K  A  V  K  L  .  177 

her  boy;  then  he  gives  the  "iron  horse"  a  fresh  impetus, 
and  we  dash  on ;  imagination  paints  a  scene  in  yonder  house 
which  many  a  frantic  parent  will  recognize  ;  and  from  which 
(even  in  thought)  we  turn  shuddering  away  —  while  the  weary 
mother  in  the  corner  covers  her  fretful  babe  with  kisses,  and 
thanks  God,  through  her  tears,  that  her  loving  arms  are  still  its 
sheltering  fold. 

12b 


NEWSPAPER-DOM. 

IT  is  beyond  my  comprehension  how  Methusaleh  lived  nine 
hundred  and  sixty-nine  years  without  a  newspaper ;  or,  what 
the  mischief  Noah  did,  during  that  "  forty  days  "  shower,  when 
he  had  exhausted  the  study  of  Natural  History.  It  makes  me 
yawn  to  think  of  it.  Or  what  later  generations  did,  the  fam 
ished  half-hour  before  meals  ;  or,  when  traveling,  when  the  old 
stage-coach  crept  up  a  steep  hill,  some  dusty  hot  summer  noon. 
Shade  of  Franklin  1  how  they  must  have  been  ennuytd  ! 

How  did  they  ever  know  when  flour  had  "riz" — or  what 
was  the  market  price  of  pork,  small  tooth  combs,  cotton, 
wool,  and  molasses?  How  did  they  know  whether  Queen 
Victoria  had  "made  her  brother  an  uncle  or  an  aunt1?" 
What  christianized  gouty  old  men  and  snappish  old  ladies  ? 
What  kept  the  old  maids  from  making  mince-meat  of  pretty 
young  girls  1  What  did  love-sick  damsels  do  for  "  sweet  bits 
of  poetry"  and  "touching  continued  stories?"  Where  did 
their  papas  find  a  solace  when  the  coffee  was  muddy,  the  toast 
smoked,  and  the  beef-steak  raw,  or  done  to  leather  1  What 
did  cab-drivers  do,  while  waiting  for  a  tardy  patron  ?  What 
did  draymen  do,  when  there  was  "  a  great  calm "  at  the  dry- 


\  E  W  S  P.  A  P  E  R -D  O  M  .  179 

goods  story  of  Go  Aliead  &  Co.  1  \Vhat  screen  did  husbands 
dodge  behind,  when  their  wives  asked  them  for  money  ? 

Some  people  define  happiness  to  be  one  tiling,  and  some 
another.  I  define ,  it  to  be  a  room  "  carpeted  and  furnished  " 
with  "  exchanges,"  with  a  place  cleared  in  the  middle  for  two 
ai-m-chairs  —  one  for  a  clever  editor,  and  one  for  yourself.  I 
say  it  is  to  take  up  those  papers,  one  by  one,  and  laugh  over 
the  funny  things  and  skip  the  stupid  ones,  —  to  admire  the 
ingenuity  of  would-be  literary  lights,  who  pilfer  one  half  their 
original  (?)  ideas,  and  steal  the  remainder.  I  say  it  is  to  shud 
der  a  thanksgiving  that  you  are  not  in  the  marriage  list,  and  to 
try,  for  the  hundredth  time,  to  solve  the  riddle :  how  can  each 
paper  that  passes  through  your  hands  be  "  the  best  and  cheap 
est  periodical  in  the  known  world  I  " 

I  say  it  is  to  look  round  an  editorial  sanctum,  inwardly 
chuckling  at  the  forlorn  appearance  it  makes  without  feminine 
fingers  to  keep  it  tidy:  to  see  the  looking-glass  veiled  with 
cobwebs;  the  dust  on  the  desk  thick  enough  to  write  your 
name  in ;  the  wash-bowl  and  towel  mulatto  color ;  the  soap 
liquified  to  a  jelly,  (editors  like  soft  soap  !  )  ;  the  table  covered 
with  a  heterogeneous  mass  of  manuscripts,  and  paper  folders, 
and  wafers,  and  stamps,  and  blotting-paper,  and  envelopes,  and 
tailors'  bills,  and  letters  complimentary,  belligerent  and  pacific. 

I  say  it  is  to  hear  the  editor  complain,  with  a  frown,  of  the 
heat  and  his  headache ;  to  conceal  a  smile,  while  you  suggest 
the  probability  of  relief  if  a  window  should  be  opened ;  to  see 
him  start  at  your  superior  profundity  ;  to  hear  him  say,  with  a 
groan,  how  much  "  proof"  he  has  to  read,  before  he  can  leave 


180  NEWSPAPER -DOM. 

for  home ;  to  take  off  your  gloves  and  help  him  correct  it ;  — 
to  hear  him  say,  there  is  a  book  for  review,  which  he  has  not 
time  to  look  over ;  to  take  a  folder  and  cut  the  leaves,  and  affix 
guide-boards  for  notice  at  all  the  fine  passages ;  to  see  him  kick 
over  an  innocent  chair,  because  he  cannot  get  hold  of  the  right 
word  for  an  editorial ;  to  feel  (while  you  help  him  to  it)  very 
much  like  the  mouse  who  gnawed  the  lion  out  of  the  net,  and 
then  to  take  up  his  paper  some  days  after,  and  find  a  paragraph 
endorsed  by  him,  "  deploring  the  intellectual  inferiority  of 
women." 

That 's  what  I  call  happiness  ! 


WALKING  along  the  street  the  other  day,  my  eye  fell  upon 
this  placard,  — 

MEN    WANTED. 

X"XX>^->_^X^N^-^_/-^^-^>-X^~*_^N^->w/-1^/- 

Well ;  they  have  been  "  wanted  "  for  some  time ;  but  the 
article  is  not  in  the  market,  although  there  are  plenty  of  spuri 
ous  imitations.  Time  was,  when  a  lady  could  decline  writing 
for  a  newspaper  without  subjecting  herself  to  paragraphic  at 
tacks  from  the  editor,  invading  the  sanctity  of  her  private  life. 
Time  was,  when  she  could  decline  writing  without  the  editor's 
revenging  himself,  by  asserting  falsely  that  "  he  had  often  re 
fused  her  offered  contributions  1 "  Time  was,  when  if  an  edi 
tor  heard  a  vague  rumor  affecting  a  lady's  reputation,  he  did 
not  endorse  it  by  republication,  and  then  meanly  screen  him 
self  from  responsibility  by  adding,  "  we  presume,  however,  that 
this  is  only  an  on  dit !  "  Time  was,  when  a  lady  could  be  a  suc 
cessful  authoress,  without  being  obliged  to  give  an  account  to 
the  dear  public  of  the  manner  in  which  she  appropriated  the 
proceeds  of  her  honest  labors.  Time  was,  when  whiskered 
braggadocios  in  railroad  cars  and  steamboats  did  not  assert, 


182  HAVE     WE     ANY     MEN     AMONG     US? 

(in  blissful  ignorance  that  they  were  looking  the  lady  author 
ess  straight  in  the  face !)  that  they  were  "  on  the  most  intimate 
terms  of  friendship  with  her ! "  Time  was,  when  milk-and- 
water  husbands  and  relatives  did  not  force  a  defamed  woman 
to  unsex  herself  in  the  mariner  stated  in  the  following  para 
graph  : 

"  MAN  SHOT  BY  A  YOUNG  WOMAN. —  One  day  last  week,  a 

young  lady  of  good  character,  daughter  of  Col. ,  having 

been  calumniated  by  a  young  man,  called  upon  him,  armed  with 
a  revolver.  The  slanderer  could  not,  or  did  not  deny  his  alle 
gations  ;  whereupon  she  fired,  inflicting  a  dangerous  if  not  a 
fatal  wound  in  his  throat." 

Yes ;  it  is  very  true  that  there  are  "  MEN  wanted."     Won 
der  how  many  1854  will  furnish? 


HOW    TO  CUKE    THE    BLUES. 

Axu  so  you  have  "  the  blues,"  hey !  Well,  I  pity  you  ! 
No  I  don't  either  ;  there 's  no  need  of  it.  If  one  friend  proves 
a  Judas,  never  mind !  plenty  of  warm,  generous,  nice  hearts 
left  for  the  winning.  If  you  are  poor,  and  have  to  sell  your 
free  agency  for  a  sixpence  a  week  to  some  penurious  relative, 
or  be  everlastingly  thankful  for  the  gift  of  an  old  garment  that 
won't  hang  together  till  you  get  it  home !  go  to  work  like  ten 
thousand  evil  spirits,  and  make  yourself  independent!  and 
see  with  what  a  different  pair  of  spectacles  you  '11  get  looked 
at !  Nothing  like  it !  You  can  have  everything  on  earth  you 
want,  when  you  don't  need  anything. 

Don't  the  Bible  say,  "  To  him  that  hath  shall  be  given  ?  "  No 
mistake,  you  see.  When  the  wheel  turns  round  with  you  on 
the  top,  (saints  and  angels !)  you  can  do  anything  you  like — play 
any  sort  of  a  prank  —  pout  or  smile,  be  grave  or  gay,  saucy 
or  courteous,  it  will  pass  muster  !  You  never  need  trouble  your 
self,  —  can't  do  anything  wrong  if  you  try.  At  the  most,  it 
will  only  be  an  "  eccentricity  ! "  But  you  never  need  be  such 
a  fool  as  to  expect  that  anybody  will  find  out  you  are  a  diamond 
till  you  get  a  showy  setting  !  You  '11  get  knocked  and  cuffed 
around,  and  roughly  handled,  with  paste  and  tinsel,  and  rubbish, 


184          HOW  TO  CUKE  THE  BLUES. 

till  that  auspicious  moment  arrives.  Then !  won't  all  the 
sheaves  bow  down  to  your  sheaf?  —  not  one  rebellious  strag 
gler  left  in  the  field !  But  stay  a  little. 

In  your  adversity,  found  you  one  faithful  heart  that  stood 
*jrmly  by  your  side  and  shared  your  tears,  when  skies  were 
dark,  and  your  pathway  thorny  and  steep,  and  summer  friends 
fell  off  like  autumn  leaves  1  By  all  that 's  noble  in  a  woman's 
heart,  give  that  one  the  first  place  in  it  now.  Let  the  world 
see  one  heart  proof  against  the  sunshine  of  prosperity.  You 
can't  repay  such  a  friend  —  all  the  mines  of  Golconda  could  n't 
do  it.  But  in  a  thousand  delicate  ways,  prompted  by  a  wo 
man's  unerring  tact,  let  your  heart  come  forth  gratefully,  gen 
erously,  lovingly.  Pray  heaven  he  be  on  the  shady  side  of 
fortune  —  that  your  heart  and  hand  may  have  a  wider  field  for 
gratitude  to  show  itself.  Extract  every  thorn  from  his  path 
way,  chase  away  every  cloud  of  sorrow,  brighten  his  lonely 
hours,  smooth  the  pillow  of  sickness,  and  press  lovingly  his 
hand  in  death. 


.RAIN    IN    THE    CITY. 

PATTER,  patter,  patter !  down  comes  the  city  shower,  on  dusty 
and  heated  pavements;  gleefully  the  willow  trees  shake  out 
their  long  green  tresses,  and  make  their  toilettes  in  the  little 
mirror  pools  beneath.  The  little  child  runs  out,  with  outspread 
palm,  to  catch  the  cool  and  pearly  drops.  The  weary  laborer, 
drawing  a  long,  grateful  breath,  bares  the  flushed  brow  of  toil ; 
boyhood,  with  bare  and  adventurous  foot,  wades  through  gut 
ter  rivers,  forgetful  of  birch,  and  bread  and  butter.  Ladies 
skutter  tiptoe,  with  uplifted  skirts,  to  the  shelter  of  some  friendly 
omnibus  ;  gentlemen,  in  the  independent  consciousness  of  cor 
duroys,  take  their  time  and  umbrellas,  while  the  poor  jaded 
horses  shake  their  sleek  sides,  but  do  not  say  neigh  to  their 
impromptu  shower-bath. 

The  little  sparrows  twitter  their  thanks  from  the  dripping 
eaves,  circling  the  piazza,  then  laving  their  speckled  breasts  at 
the  little  lakelets  in  the  spout.  Old  Towser  lies  with  his  nose 
to  the  door-mat,  sniffing  "  the  cool,"  with  the  philosophy  of  Di 
ogenes.  Petrarch  sits  in  the  parlor  with  his  Laura,  too  happy 
when  some  vivid  lightning  flash  gives  him  an  excuse  for  closer 
quarters.  Grandpapa  puts  on  his  spectacles,  walks  to  the  win 
dow,  and  taking  a  look  at  the  surrounding  clouds,  says,  "  How 


180  RAIN     IX     THE     CITY. 

this  rain  will  make  the  corn  grow."  The  old  maid  opposite 
sets  out  a  single  geranium,  scraggy  as  herself,  invoking  some 
double  blossoms.  Forlorn  experimenter !  even  a  spinster's 
affections  must  centre  somewhere. 

See  that  little  pinafore  mariner  stealing  out,  with  one  eye  on 
the  nursery  window,  to  navigate  his  pasteboard  boat  in  the 
street  pools.  There 's  a  flash  of  sunshine !  What  a  glorious 
rainbow !  The  little  fellow  tosses  his  arms  aloft,  and  gazes  at 
it.  Ten  to  one,  the  little  Yankee,  instead  of  admiring  its  gor 
geous  splendor,  is  wishing  he  could  invert  it  for  a  swing,  and 
seizing  it  at  both  ends,  sweep  through  the  stars  with  it.  Well, 
it  is  nothing  new  for  a  child  to  like  "  the  milky  way." 

Fair  weather  again !  piles  of  heavy  clouds  are  drifting  by, 
leaving  the  clear  blue  sky  as  serene  as  when  "the  morning 
stars  first  sang  together."  Nature's  gems  sparkle  lavishly  on 
glossy  leaf  and  swaying  branch,  on  bursting  bud  and  flower ; 
while  the  bow  of  peace  melts  gently  and  imperceptibly  away, 
like  the  dying  saint  into  the  light  of  Heaven. 

Oh,  earth  is  gloriously  fair  !  Alas  !  that  the  trail  of  the  ser 
pent  should  be  over  it  all ! 


MES.   WEASEL'S  HUSBAND. 

"  A  woman,  a  dog,  and  a  walnut  tree, 
The  more  they  aro  beaten  the  better  they  be.™ 

"  ANY  man  who  believes  that,  had  better  step  into  my  shoes," 
said  little  Mr.  Weasel.  "  I  suppose  I  'm  what  you  call  '  the 
head  of  the  family,'  but  I  should  n't  know  it  if  somebody  did  n't 
tell  me  of  it.  Ileigho  !  who  'd  have  thought  it  five  and  twenty 
years  ago  1  Did  n't  I  stifle  a  tremendous  strong  penchant  for 
Diana  Dix,  (never  smoked,  I  remember,  for  four  hours  after  it,) 
because  I  had  my  private  suspicions  she  'd  hold  the  reins  in 
spite  of  my  teeth,  and  so  I  offered  myself  to  little  Susey  Snow, 
(mistake  in  her  name,  by  the  way.)  You  might  have  spanned 
her  round  the  waist,  or  lifted  her  with  one  hand.  She  never 
looked  anybody  in  the  face  when  they  spoke  to  her,  and  her  voice 

was  as  soft  as my  brains  !  I  declare,  it 's  unaccountable  how 

deceitful  female  nature  is !  Never  was  so  taken  in  in  my  life ; 
she  's  a  regular  Vesuvius  crater !  Her  will  ]  (don't  mention 
it !)  Try  to  pry  up  the  Alps  with  a  cambric  needle !  If  she  'd 
only  fly  into  a  passion,  I  think  I  could  venture  to  pluck  up  a 
little  spirit;  but  that  cool,  determined,  never-say-die  look' 
would  turn  Cayenne  pepper  to  oil.  It  wilts  me  right  down, 
like  a  cabbage  leaf.  I  'd  as  lief  face  a  loaded  cannon !  I  wish 
I  could  go  out  evenings ;  but  she  won't  let  me.  Tom  Jones 


188  MRS.   WEASEL'S   HUSBAND. 

asked  me  yesterday  why  I  was  n't  at  Faneuil  Hall  the  night 
before.  I  told  him  I  had  the  bronchitis.  He  saw  through  it ! 
Sent  me  a  pair  of  reins  the  next  day, — '  said  to  be  a  certain 
cure ! '  Ah !  it 's  very  well  for  him  to  laugh,  but  it 's  no  joke 
to  me.  I  suppose  it 's  time  to  feed  that  baby ;  Mrs.  Weasel 
will  be  home  pretty  soon,  from  the  '  Woman's  Rights  Conven 
tion.'  No,  I  won't,  either  ;  I  '11  give  it  some  paregoric,  and  run 
up  garret  and  smoke  one  cigar.  I  feel  as  though  I  couldn't 
look  a  humming-bird  in  the  eye  !  Nice  cigar  !  —  very  nice ! 
What  a  fool  I  am  to  be  ordered  round  by  a  little  blue-eyed 
woman,  three  feet  high !  I  'm  a  very  good  looking  fellow,  and 
I  won't  stand  it !  Is  n't  that  little  Weasel  as  much  her  baby  as 
it  is  mine  1  Certainly." 

"M-r.  W-e-a-s-e-l ! " 

"Hem, — my — dear — (oh!  that  eye  of  hers!)  —  you  see, 
my  dear,  (there,  I  won't  do  it  again,  Mrs.  Weasel.)  How  's 
'  the  Convention,'  dear  1  Carried  the  day,  I  hope  ? — made  one 
of  your  smart  speeches,  hey  ?  Tis  n't  every  man  owns  such  a 
chain-lightning  wife ;  —  look  out  for  your  rights,  dear ;  (deuce 
knows  /  dare  not ! ") 


COUNTRY  SUNDAY  vs.  CITY  SUNDAY. 

'Tis  Sunday  in  the  city. 

The  sun  glares  murkily  down,  through  the  smoky  and  stench- 
laden  atmosphere,  upon  the  dirty  pavements ;  newsboys,  with 
clamorous  cries,  are  vending  their  wares ;  milkmen  rattle  over 
the  pavements,  and  startle  drowsy  sleepers  by  their  shrill 
whoopings ;  housemaids  arc  polishing  door  knobs,  washing 
sidewalks,  and  receiving  suspicious  looking  baskets  and  parcels 
from  contiguous  groceries  and  bakeshops. 

The  sun  rolls  on  his  course ;  purifying  the  air  and  benignly 
smiling  upon  all  the  dwellers  in  the  city,  as  though  he  would 
gently  win  them  from  unholy  purposes  to  heavenly  meditations 
and  pursuits. 

—  And  now  the  streets  are  filled  with  a  motley  show  of 
silks,  satins,  velvets,  feathers  and  jewels  —  while  carriages  and 
vehicles  of  every  description  roll  past,  freighted  with  counter- 
freed  youths  and  their  Dulcineas,  bent  upon  a  holiday.  Hun 
dreds  of  "  drinking  saloons  "  belch  forth  their  pestiferous  breath, 
upon  which  is  borne,  to  the  ear  of  the  passer-by,  (perhaps  a 
lady  or  tender  child,)  the  profane  curse  and  obscene  gibe; 
and  from  their  portals  reel  intoxicated  brutes,  who  once  were 
men.  Military  companies  march  to  and  fro  ;  now,  at  slow  and 


190        COUNTRY     SUNDAY     VS.     CITY     SUNDAY. 

solemn  pace,  to  the  mournful  strains  of  a  dead-march ;  now, 
(having  rid  themselves  of  the  corpse  of  their  dead  comrade.) 
they  gaily  "  step  out,"  blithe  and  merry,  to  the  cheering  strains 
of  an  enlivening  quickstep,  based  on  an  Ethiopian  melody  ;  the 
frivolous  tones  blending  discordantly  with  the  chimes  of  the 
Sabbath  bells.  And  stable-keepers,  oyster  and  ice-cream  ven 
ders,  liquor  sellers,  et  id  omne  genus,  are  reaping  a  golden  har 
vest,  upon  which  the  "  Lord  of  the  Sabbath  "  shall,  sooner  or 
later,  send  "  a  blight  and  a  mildew." 


'Tis  Sunday  in  the  country. 

Serene  and  majestic,  in  the  distance,  lie  the  blue,  cloud-capped 
hills  ; .  while,  at  their  base,  the  silver  stream  winds  gracefully, 
sparkling  in  the  glad  sunlight.  Now  the  fragrant  branches 
stir  with  feathered  life ;  and  one  clear,  thrilling  carol  lifts  the 
finger  from  the  dumb  lip  of  Nature,  heralding  a  full  orchestra 
of  untaught  choristers,  which  plume  their  wings,  and  soaring, 
seem  to  say,  Praise  Him  !  praise  Him  ! 

Obedient  to  the  sweet  summons,  the  silver-haired  old  man 
and  rosy  child,  along  grassy,  winding  paths,  hie  to  the  little 
village  church.  On  the  gentle  maiden's  kindly  arm  leans  the 
bending  form  of  "four  score  years  and  ten,"  gazing,  with 
dimmed  but  grateful  eye,  on  leafy  stem,  and  bursting  bud,  and 
full-blown  flower ;  or,  listening  to  the  wind  dallying  with  the 
tall  tree-tops,  or  kissing  the  fields  of  golden  grain,  which  wave 
their  graceful  recognition,  as  it  sweeps  by  on  its  fragrant  path. 


COUNTRY     SUNDAY     VS.     CITY     SUNDAY.       191 

And  now,  slowly  the  Sabbath  sun  sinks  beneath  the  western 
hills  in  gold  and  purple  glory.  Gently  the  dew  of  peace  de 
scends  on  closed  eyes  and  flowers ;  while  holy  stars  creep 
softly  out,  to  keep  their  tireless  watch  o'er  happy  hearts  and 
Sabbath-loving  homes. 


SOBER    HUSBANDS. 

"!F  your  husband  looks  grave,  let  him  alone;  don't  disturb  or  annoy  him." 

OH,  pshaw  !  were  I  married,  the  soberer  my  husband  look 
ed,  the  more  fun  I  'd  rattle  about  his  ears.  Do  n't  disturb 
him  !  I  guess  so !  I  'd  salt  his  coffee  —  and  pepper  his  tea  — 
and  sugar  his  beef-steak  —  and  tread  on  his  toes  —  and  hide  his 
newspaper  —  and  sew  up  his  pockets  —  and  put  pins  in  his 
slippers  —  and  dip  his  cigars  in  water, —  and  I  would  n't  stop 
for  the  great  Mogul,  till  I  had  shortened  his  long  face  to  my 
liking.  Certainly,  he  'd  "  get  vexed  ;  "  there  would  n't  be  any 
fun  in  teasing  him  if  he  did  n't ;  and  that  would  give  his  mel 
ancholy  blood  a  good,  healthful  start ;  and  his  eyes  would  snap 
and  sparkle,  and  he  'd  say,  "  Fanny,  WILL  you  be  quiet  or  not  1 " 
and  I  should  laugh,  and  pull  his  whiskers,  and  say  decidedly, 
"  Not  I  "  and  then  I  should  tell  him  he  had  n't  the  slightest  idea 
how  handsome  he  looked  when  he  was  vexed,  and  then  he 
would  pretend  not  to  hear  the  compliment  —  but  would  pull 
up  liis  dickey,  and  take  a  sly  peep  in  the  glass*  (for  all  that !) 
and  then  he  'd  begin  to  grow  amiable,  and  get  off  his  stilts,  and 
be  just  as  agreeable  all  the  rest  of  the  evening  as  if  Tie  u'as  n't 
my  husband ;  and  all  because  I  didn't  follow  that  stupid  bit 
of  advice  ';  to  let  him  alone."  Just  as  if  /  did  n't  know !  Just 


BOBER     HUSBANDS.  193 

imagine  ME,  Fanny,  sitting  down  on  a  cricket  in  the  corner, 
with  my  forefinger  in  my  mouth,  looking  out  the  sides  of  my 
eyes,  and  waiting  till  that  man  got  ready  to  speak  to  me !  You 
can  see  at  once  it  would  be  —  be  — .  Well,  the  amount  of  it 
is,  /  should  n't  do  it  I 

13b  I 


OUR    STREET. 

SING  away,  little  bird  !  only  you,  the  trees,  and  myself,  are 
stirring,  but  you  have  an  appreciative  audience.  Your  sweet 
carol  and  the  graceful  waving  of  yonder  tree,  as  the  soft  wind 
turns  up  its  silver-lined  leaves  in  the  sunlight,  fill  my  heart  with 
a  quiet  gladness. 

Whom  have  we  here?  with  ragged  skirt,  bare  mud-be- 
grimm'd  feet  and  ankles,  tattered  shawl,  and  tangled  masses  of 
hair  fluttering  .round  a  face  ploughed  deep  with  time  and 
trouble.  See  —  she  stoops,  and,  stretching  her  skeleton  fingers 
towards  the  gutter,  grasps  some  refuse  rags  and  paper,  and 
thrusts  them  greedily  into  the  dirty  sack  she  bears  upon  her 
shoulders.  Good  heavens !  that  dirty  mass  of  rags  a  woman  ? 
How  wearily  she  leans  against  yonder  tree,  gazing  upward  into 
its  branches !  Perhaps  that  little  bird's  matin  song  has  swept 
Borne  chord  for  long  years  untouched  in  that  callous  heart ; 
telling  her  of  the  shelter  of  a  happy  home,  where  Plenty  sat  at 
the  board  and  Love  kept  guard  at  the  threshold.  Oh !  who  can 
tell  1  One  more  song,  my  little  bird,  ere  she  goes ;  not  so 
mockingly  joyous,  but  sweet,  and  soft,  and  low  —  a  requiem 
for  blighted  youth  and  blasted  hopes  ;  for  know  that  the  blue 
sky  to  whose  arch  you  soar,  bends  over  misery  enough  to  make 
the  bright  seraphs  weep. 


OUR     STREET. 


OUR     STREET.  195 

Bless  me  !  what  yell  is  that  1  "  Yeei  —  ho  —  oe  —  yeei  — 
ho."  It  is  only  a  milkman,  and  that  horrid  cry  simply  means, 
"  Milk  for  sale."  What  a  picture  of  laziness  is  the  vender ! 
Jump  off  your  cart,  man,  thump  on  the  kitchen  door  with  your 
milk-dipper,  and  rouse  that  sleepy  cook  who  is  keeping  you 
waiting  her  pleasure  ;  that 's  the  way  to  do  business  :  pshaw ! 
your  manliness  must  have  been  diluted  with  your  milk.  One 
by  one  they  emerge,  the  dead-and-alive  looking  housemaids, 
dragging  their  brooms  after  them  lazily  and  helplessly,  and 
bandy  words  with  the  vexed  milkman,  and  gossip  with  each 
other,  as  they  rest  their  chins  on  their  broom-handles,  on 
"  kitchen  cabinet  "  affairs. 

Here  comes  an  Italian,  balancing  a  shelf-load  of  plaster  Cu 
pids  and  Venuses,  and  dove-circled  vases.  How  mournfully 
his  dark  eyes  look  out  from  beneath  his  tasseled  cap,  as  he  lifts 
his  burden  from  his  head  for  a  momentary  reprieve.  They 
tell  of  weary  feet,  a  heavy  heart,  and  a  light  purse.  They  tell, 
with  a  silent  reproach,  that  our  hearts  are  as  cold  as  our  clime. 
Oh  !  not  all,  good  Pietro  !  For  your  sake,  I  '11  make  myself 
mistress  of  that  sleeping  child ;  though,  truth  to  say,  the  sculp 
tor  who  moulded  it  has  most  wofiilly  libelled  Nature.  Would 
I  could  see  the  sunny  skies  upon  which  your  dark  eyes  first 
opened,  and  all  the  glorious  forms  that  beauty  wears  in  your 
vine-clad  home  beyond  the  seas. 

How  the  pedestrians  hurry  along !  — merchants  to  their  cares 
and  their  counting-rooms,  and  shop-girls  and  seamstresses  to 
their  prisons.  Here  comes  a  group  of  pale-faced  city  children, 
on  their  way  to  school.  God  bless  the  little  unfortunates ! 


196  OUR     STREET. 

Their  little  feet  should  be  crushing  the  strawberries,  ripe  and 
sweet,  on  some  sunny  hill-slope,  where  breath  of  new-mown 
hay  and  clover  blossoms  would  give  roses  to  their  cheeks  and 
strength  and  grace  to  their  cramped  and  half-developed  limbs. 
Poor  little  creatures !  they  never  saw  a  patch  of  blue  sky 
bigger  than  their  satchels,  or  a  blade  of  grass  that  dared  to 
grow  without  permission  from  the  mayor,  aldermen  and  com 
mon  council.  Poor  little  skeletons !  tricked  out  like  the  fash 
ion-prints,  and  fed  on  diluted  skim-milk  and  big  dictionaries.  I 
pity  you. 

A  hand-organ  !  ground  by  a  modern  Peter  Schemmel,  and 
accompanied  by  a  woman  whose  periphery  it  would  be  vain  to 
compute  by  inches,  singing, 

"  I M  be  a  butterfly." 

Ye  gods  and  graces !  if  ye  heed  her  prayer,  grant  that  she 
alight  not  on  my  two-lips  !  Now  she  is  warbling, 

"  Home  I  sweet  home," 

as  if  she  was  n't  making  it  for  me,  this  minute,  a  perfect  place 
of  torment !  Avaunt !  thou  libel  upon  feminity  !  —  creep  into 
corduroys  and  apply  for  the  office  of  town  crier. 

A  funeral !  That  is  nothing  uncommon  in  a  densely  popu 
lated  city  ;  so,  nobody  turns  to  look,  as  it  winds  along,  slowly, 
as  will  the  sad  future  to  that  young  husband  —  that  father  of 
an  hour.  Sad  legacy  to  him,  those  piles  of  tiny  robes,  and 
dainty  little  garments,  whose  elaborate  and  delicate  embroidery 
was  purchased  at  such  a  fearful  price.  Nature  will  have  her 
revenge  for  a  reckless  disregard  of  her  laws :  so,  there  she  lies, 


OUR     STREET.  197 

the  young  mother,  with  the  long-looked-for  babe  upon  her 
girlish  breast.  Sad  comment  upon  a  foolish  vanity. 

What  have  we  here  ?  —  A  carriage  at  the  door  ?  Ah  !  I 
recollect ;  there  was  a  wedding  at  that  house  last  night — lights 
flashing,  music  swelling  —  white  arms  gleaming  through  tissue 
textures,  and  merry  voices  breaking  in  upon  my  slumbers  late 
in  the  small  hours. 

Ah  yes  —  and  this  is  the  bride's  leave-taking.  How  proud 
and  important  that  young  husband  looks,  as  he  stands  on  the 
steps,  with  the  bride's  traveling  shawl  upon  his  arm,  giving  his 
orders  to  the  coachman !  Now  he  casts  an  impatient  glance 
back  through  the  open  door  into  the  hall,  half  jealous  of  the 
tear  sparkling  in  the  young  wife's  eye,  as  the  mother  presses 
her  tenderly  to  her  breast,  as  the  father  lays  the  hand  of 
blessing  on  her  sunny  head,  and  brothers  and  sisters,  half  glad, 
half  sad,  offer  then*  lips  for  a  good-bye  kiss. 

Hurry  her  not  away !  Not  even  the  heart  she  has  singled 
out  from  all  the  world  to  lean  upon,  can  love  so  fondly,  so 
truly,  as  those  she  leaves  behind.  Dark  days  may  come,  when 
love's  sunshine  shall  be  o'erclouded  by  cares  and  sickness,  from 
which  young  manhood,  impatient,  shrinks.  Let  Tier  linger : 
so  shall  your  faith  in  her  young  wifely  love  be  strengthened  by 
such  strong  filial  yearning  for  these,  her  cradle  watchers.  Let 
her  linger :  silver  hairs  mingle  in  the  mother's  tresses ;  the 
father's  dark  eye  grows  dim  with  age,  and  insatiate  Death  heeds 
nor  prayer,  nor  tear,  nor  lifted  eye  of  supplication.  Let  her 
linger. 

New- York !   New-York  !   who  but  thyself  would  have  tol- 


198  OUR     STREET. 

crated  for  twelve  mortal  hours,  with  the  thermometer  at  90 
degrees,  that  barrel  of  refuse  fish  and  potatoes,  sour  bread  and 
damaged  meat,  questionable  vegetables  and  antique  puddings, 
steaming  on  that  sunny  sidewalk,  in  the  forlorn  hope  that  some 
pig's  patron  might  be  tempted,  by  the  odoriferous  hash,  to  ven 
ture  on  its  transportation.  Know,  then,  O  pestiferous  Gotham, 
that  half  a  score  of  these  gentry,  after  having  sounded  it  with  a 
long  pole  to  the  bottom,  for  the  benefit  of  my  olfactories,  have 
voted  it  a  nuisance  to  which  even  a  pig  might  make  a  gutter-a\ 
remonstrance.  Oh !  Marshal  Tukey,  if  California  yet  holds 
you,  in  the  name  of  the  Asiatic  cholera,  and  my  "  American 
constitution,"  recross  the  Isthmus  and  exorcise  that  barrel ! 

Look  on  yonder  door-step.  See  that  poor,  worn  creature 
seated  there,  with  a  puling  infant  at  her  breast,  from  whence  it 
draws  no  sustenance :  on  either  side  are  two  little  creatures, 
apparently  asleep,  with  their  heads  in  her  lap.  Their  faces  are 
very  pallid,  and  their  little  limbs  have  nothing  of  childhood's 
rounded  symmetry  and  beauty.  "  Perhaps  she  is  an  impos 
tor,"  says  Prudence,  seizing  my  purse-strings,  "  getting  up  that 
tableau  for  just  such  impressible  dupes  as  yourself."  "  Per 
haps  sh»  is  not"  says  Feeling ;  " perhaps  at  this  moment  des 
pair  whispers  in  her  tempted  ear  '  curse  God  and  die  ! '  Oh ! 
then,  how  sad  to  have  '  passed  her  by,  on  the  other  side  ! ' " 
Let  me  be  "  duped,"  rather  than  that  wan  face  should  come 
between  my  soul  and  Heaven. 


WHEN  YOU   ARE  ANGRY. 

44  Wheii  you  are  angry,  tako  three  breaths  before  you  speak." 

I  COULDN'T  do  it,  said  Mrs.  Penlimmon.  Long  before  that 
time  I  should  be  as  placid  as  an  oyster.  "  Three  breaths !  "  I 
could  double  Cape  Horn  in  that  time.  I  'm  telegraphic, —  if 
I  had  to  stop  to  reflect,  I  should  never  be  saucy.  I  can't  hold 
anger  any  more  than  an  April  sky  can  retain  showers ;  the  first 
thing  I  know,  the  sun  is  shining.  You  may  laugh,  but  that 's 
better  than  one  of  your  foggy  dispositions,  drizzling  drops  of 
discomfort  a  month  on  a  stretch ;  no  computing  whether  you  '11 
have  anything  but  gray  clouds  overhead  the  rest  of  your  life. 
No  :  a  good  heavy  clap  of  thunder  for  me  —  a  lightning  flash ; 
then  a  bright  blue  sky  and  a  clear  atmosphere,  and  I  am  ready 
for  the  first  flower  that  springs  up  in  my  path. 

"  Three  breaths !  "  how  absurd  !  as  if  people,  when  they 
get  excited,  ever  have  any  breath,  or  if  they  have,  are  con 
scious  of  it.  I  should  like  to  see  the  Solomon  who  got  off 
that  sage  maxim.  I  should  like  better  still  to  give  him  an  op 
portunity  to  test  his  own  theory  !  It 's  very  refreshing  to  see 
how  good  people  can  be,  when  they  have  no  temptation  to  sin  ; 
how  they  can  sit  down  and  make  a  code  of  laws  for  the  world 
in  general  and  sinners  in  particular. 


200  WHEN     YOU     ARE     ANGRY. 

"Three  breaths!"  I  would  n't  give  a  three-cent  piece  for 
anybody  who  is  that  long  about  anything.  The  days  of  stage 
coaches  have  gone  by.  Nothing  passes  muster  now  but  com 
ets,  locomotives  and  telegraph  wires.  Our  forefathers  and 
foremothers  would  have  to  hold  the  hair  on  their  heads  if  they 
should  wake  up  in  1854.  They  'd  be  as  crazy  as  a  cat  in  a 
shower-bath,  at  all  our  whizzing  and  rushing.  Nice  old  snails  ! 
It 's  a  question  with  me  whether  I  should  have  crept  on  at  their 
pace,  had  I  been  a  cotemporary.  Christopher  Columbus  would 
have  discovered  the  New  World  much  quicker  than  he  did, 
had  I  been  at  his  elbow. 


LITTLE    BESSIE; 
OR,    MISS    PRIM'S    MODEL    SCHOOL. 

SCHOOL  is  out !  What  stretching  of  limbs ;  what  unfetter 
ing  of  tongues  and  heels ;  what  tossing-up  of  pinafores  and 
primers ;  what  visions  of  marbles,  and  hoops,  and  dolls,  and 
apples,  and  candy,  and  gingerbread !  How  welcome  the  fresh 
air ;  how  bright  the  sunshine ;  how  tempting  the  grassy  play 
ground  !  Ah,  there's  a  drop  of  rain  —  there's  another  ;  there's 
a  thunder  clap  !  "  Just  as  school  is  out — how  provoking !  "  echo 
a  score  of  voices ;  and  the  pouting  little  prisoners  huddle  to 
gether  in  the  school-house  porch,  and  console  themselves  by 
swapping  jack-knives  and  humming  tops,  and  telling  marvellous 
stories  of  gypsies  and  giants ;  while  Miss  Prim,  the  dyspeptic 
teacher,  shakes  her  head  and  the  ferule,  and  declares  that  the 
former  will  "  fly  into  fifty  pieces ; "  upon  which  some  of  the 
boys  steal  out  of  doors  and  amuse  themselves  by  sounding  the 
puddles  with  their  shoes,  while  others  slyly  whittle  the  desks, 
or  draw  caricatures  on  their  slates,  of  Miss  Prim's  long  nose. 

Drip,  drip  —  spatter,  spatter !  How  the  rain  comes  down, 
as  if  it  could  n't  help  it ;  no  prospect  of  "  holding  up." 

Here  come    messengers  from  anxious  mothers,  with  India 


202  LI*TTLE      BESSIE. 

rubbers,  extra  tippets,  and  umbrellas ;  and  there  's  a  chaise  at 
the  door,  for  Squire  Lenox's  little  rosy  daughter ;  and  a  wagon 
for  the  two  Prince  girls  ;  and  a  stout  Irish  girl,  with  a  blanket 
shawl,  to  carry  home  little  lame  Minnie  May,  who  is  as  fragile 
as  a  lily,  and  just  as  sweet.  And  there  's  a  servant  man  for 
Master  Simpkins,  the  fat  dunce  with  the  embroidered  jacket, 
whose  father  owns  "  the  big  Hotel,  and  wishes  his  son  to  have 
a  seat  all  by  himself." 

And  now  they  are  all  gone  ;  —  all  save  little  Bessie  Bell,  the 
new  scholar, —  a  little  four-year-older,  who  is  doing  penance 
over  in  the  corner  for  "  a  misdemeanor." 

Bessie's  mother  is  a  widow.  She  has  known  such  bright, 
sunny  days,  in  the  shelter  of  a  happy  home,  with  a  dear  arm  to 
lean  upon !  Now,  her  sweet  face  is  sad  and  care-worn,  and 
when  she  speaks,  her  voice  has  a  heart-quiver  in  it :  but.  some 
how,  when  she  talks  to  you,  you  do  not  notice  that  her  dress  is 
faded,  or  her  bonnet  shabby  and  rusty.  You  instinctively  touch 
your  hat  to  her,  and  treat  her  very  courteously,  as  if  she  were 
a  fine  lady. 

As  I  said  before,  this  is  little  Bessie's  first  day  at  school ;  for, 
she  is  light  and  warmth  and  sunshine  to  her  broken-hearted 
mother.  But,  little  Bessie  must  have  bread  to  eat.  A  shop 
woman  offered  her  mother  a  small  pittance  to  come  and  help 
her  a  part  of  every  day ;  but  she  is  not  to  bring  her  child ;  so, 
Bessie  must  go  to  school,  to  be  out  of  harm's  way,  and  her 
mother  tells  Miss  Prim,  as  she  seats  her  on  the  hard  bench,  that 
"  she  is  very  timid  and  tender-hearted ; "  and  then  she  kisses 
Bessie's  little  quivering  lip,  and  leaves  her  with  a  heavy  heart. 


LITTLE      BE&SIE.  203 

Bessie  dare  not  look  up  for  a  few  minutes ;  —  it  is  all  very 
odd  and  strange,  and  if  she  were  not  so  frightened  she  would 
cry  aloud.  By-and-by  she  gains  a  little  courage,  and  peeps 
out  from  beneath  her  drooping  eye-lashes.  Her  little  pinafore 
neighbor  gives  her  a  sweet  smile — it  makes  her  little  heart  so 
happy,  that  she  throws  her  little  dimpled  arms  about  her  neck 
and  says,  (out  loud)  "  I  love  you !  " 

Poor,  affectionate  little  Bessie !  she  did  n't  know  that  that 
was  a  "  misdemeanor ;  "  nor  had  she  ever  seen  that  bug-bear,  a 
"  School  Committe.';  Miss  Prim  had ;  —  and  Miss  Prim  never 
wasted  her  lungs  talking  ;  so,  she  leisurely  untied  her  black  silk 
apron  from  her  virgin  waist,  and  proceeded  to  make  an  African 
of  little  Bessie,  by  pinning  it  tightly  over  her  face  and  head  — 
an  invention  which  herself  and  "  the  Coq^ittce  "  considered 
the  ne  plus  ultra  of  discipline.  Bessie  struggled,  and  said  she 
"  never  would  kiss  anybody  again  —  never  —  never ;  "  but  Miss 
Prim  was  inexorable,  and,  as  her  victim  continued  to  utter 
smothered  cries,  Miss  Prim  told  her  "  that  she  would  keep  her 
after  the  other  children  had  gone  home." 

One  class  after  another  recited ;  Bessie's  sobs  became  less 
loud  and  frequent,  and  Miss  Prim  flattered  herself,  now  that 
they  had  ceased  altogether,  that  she  was  quite  subdued,  and  con 
gratulated  herself  complacently  upon  her  extraordinary  talent 
for  "  breaking  in  new  beginners." 

And  now,  school  being  done,  the  children  gone,  her  bonnet 
and  India  rubbers  being  put  on,  and  all  her  spinster  "  fixings  " 
settled  to  her  mind,  visions  of  hot  tea  and  buttered  toast  began 


204  LITTLE     BESSIE. 

to  float  temptingly  through  her  brain,  and  suggest  the  propriety 
of  Bessie's  release. 

"  Bessie ! " —  no  answer.  "  Bessie !  " —  no  reply.  Miss  Prim 
laid  the  ferule  across  the  little  fat  shoulders.  Bessie  did  n't 
wince.  Miss  Prim  unpinned  the  apron  to  confront  the  face  that 
was  bold  enough  to  defy  her  and  "  the  Committee."  Little 
Bessie  was  dead! 

Well ;  there  was  a  pauper  funeral,  and  a  report  about  that 
a  child  had  been  "  frightened  to  death  at  school ;  "  but  Bessie's 
mother  was  a  poor  woman,  consequently  the  righteous  Commit 
tee  "  did  n't  feel  called  upon  to  interfere  with  such  idle  reports." 


THE    DELIGHTS    OF    VISITING. 

WHAT  is  it  to  go  away  on  a  visit  ?  Well,  it  is  to  take  Ieav3 
of  the  little  velvet  rocking-chair,  which  adjusts  itself  so  nicely 
to  your  shoulders  and  spinal  column ;  to  cram,  jam,  squeeze, 
and  otherwise  compress  your  personal  effects  into  an  infinitessi- 
mal  compass ;  to  be  shook,  jolted,  and  tossed,  by  turns,  in  car 
riage,  railroad  and  steamboat ;  to  be  deafened  with  the  stento 
rian  lungs  of  cab-drivers,  draymen  and  porters;  to  clutch  your 
baggage  as  if  every  face  you  saw  was  a  highwayman ;  (or  to 
find  yourself  transported  with  rage,  at  finding  it  transported  by 
steam  to  Greenland  or  Cape  Horn.)  It  is  to  reach  your  friend's 
house,  travel-stained,  cold  and  weary,  with  an  unbecoming 
crook  in  your  bonnet ;  to  be  utterly  unable  to  get  the  frost  out 
of  your  tongue,  or  "  the  beam  into  your  eye"  and  to  have  the 
felicity  of  hearing  some  strange  guest  remark  to  your  friend, 
as  you  say  an  early  good-night,  "  Is  it  possible  THAT  is  your 
friend, Miss  Grey?" 

It  is  to  be  ushered  into  the  "  best  chamber,"  (always  a  north 
one)  of  a  cold  January  night ;  to  unhook  your  dress  with  stif 
fened  digits ;  to  find  every  thing  in  your  trunk  but  your  night 
cap  ;  to  creep  between  polished  linen  sheets,  on  a  congealed 
mattress,  and  listen  to  the  chattering  of  your  own  teeth  until 
daylight. 


'206  THE      DELIGHTS      OF      VISITING. 

It  is  to  talk  at  a  mark  twelve  hours  on  the  stretch ;  to  eat 
and  drink  all  sorts  of  things  which  disagree  with  you  ;  to  get 
up  sham  fits  of  enthusiasm  at  trifles ;  to  learn  to  yawn  circum 
spectly  behind  your  finger-tips ;  to  avoid  all  allusion  to  topics 
unsuited  to  your  pro  tern,  latitude ;  to  have  somebody  forever 
at  your  nervous  elbow,  trying  to  make  you  "  enjoy  yourself;  " 
to  laugh  when  you  want  to  cry ;  to  be  loquacious  when  you  had 
rather  be  taciturn ;  to  have  mind  and  body  in  unyielding  har 
ness,  for  lingering,  consecutive  weeks ;  and  then  to  invite  your 
friends,  with  a  hypocritical  smile,  to  play  the  same  farce  over 
with  you,  "  whenever  business  or  pleasure  calls  them  "  to  Frog 
town! 


HELEN  HAVEN'S  "HAPPY  NEW  YEAK." 

"I'n  miserable;  there's  no  denying  it,"  said  Helen. 
"  There 's  nothing  in  this  endless  fashionable  routine  of  dres 
sing,  dancing  and  visiting,  that  can  satisfy  me.  Hearts  enough 
are  laid  at  my  feet,  but  I  owe  them  all  to  the  accidents  of 
wealth  and  position.  The  world  seems  all  emptiness  to  me. 
There  must  be  something  beyond  this,  else  why  this  ceaseless 
reaching  of  the  soul  for  some  unseen  good  1  Why  do  the 
silent  voices  of  nature  so  thrill  me  ?  Why  do  the  holy  stars 
with  their  burning  eyes  utter  such  silent  reproaches ?  Have  I 
nothing  to  do  but  amuse  myself  with  toys  like  a  child  ?  Shall 
I  live  only  for  myself?  Does  not  the  sun  that  rises  upon  my 
luxury,  shine -also  upon  the  tear-stained  face  of  sorrow  ?  Are 
there  not  slender  feet  stumbling  wearily  in  rugged,  lonely  paths  ? 
Why  is  mine  flower-bestrewn  1  How  am  I  better  ?  Whose 
sorrowful  heart  have  I  lightened  1  What  word  of  comfort  has 

^ 

fallen  from  my  lips  on  the  ear  of  the  grief-stricken  1     What  am 
I  here  for  ?     What  is  my  mission  ?  " 


"  And  you  have  only  this  wretched  place  to  nurse  that  sick 
child  in?"  said  Helen;  "and  five  lesser  ones  to  care  for? 
Will  you  trust  that  sick  child  with  me  ?  " 


208       HELEN   HAVEN'S  ''HAPPY  NEW  YEAK." 

"  She  is  not  long  for  this  world,  my  lady  ;  and  I  love  her  as 
well  as  though  I  had  but  one.  Sometimes  I  've  thought  the 
more  care  I  have  for  her,  the  closer  my  heart  clings  to  her. 
She  is  very  patient  and  sweet." 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  said  Helen ;  "  but  I  have  it  in  my  power  to 
make  her  so  much  more  comfortable.  It  may  preserve,  at 
least  lengthen  her  life." 

When  little  Mary  opened  her  eyes  the  next  morning,  she 
half  believed  herself  in  fairy -land.  Soft  fleecy  curtains  •  were 
looped  about  her  head,  her  little  emaciated  hand  rested  upon  a 
silken  coverlid,  a  gilded  table  stood  by  her  bed-side,  the  little 
cup  from  which  her  lips  were  moistened  was  of  bright  silver, 
and  a  sweet  face  was  bending  over  her,  shaded  by  a  cloud  of 
golden  hair,  that  fell  like  a  glory  about  her  head. 

"  Where  am  II"  said  the  child,  crossing  her  little  hand  across 
her  bewildered  brain. 

Helen  smiled.  "  You  are  my  little  bird  now,  dear.  How 
do  you  like  your  cage  ?  " 

"  It  is  very,  very  pretty,"  said  Mary,  with  childish  delight ; 
"  but  won't  you  get  tired  of  waiting  upon  a  poor  little  sick  girl  ? 
Mamma  was  used  to  it.  You  don't  look  as  if  you  could 
work." 

"Don't  I?"  said  Helen,  with  a  slight  blush;  "for  all  that, 
you  '11  see  how  nicely  I  can  take  care  of  you,  little  one.  I  '11 
sing  to  you ;  I  '11  read  to  you ;  I  '11  tell  you  pretty  stories ;  and 
when  you  are  weary  of  your  couch,  I  '11  fold  you  in  my  arms, 
and  rock  you  so  gently  to  sleep.  And  when  you  get  better 
and  stronger,  you  shall  have  so  many  nice  toys  to  play  with, 


HELEN  HAVEN'S  "HAPPY  NEW  YEAR."   209 

and  I  '11  crown  your  little  bright  head  with  pretty  flowers,  and 
make  you  nice  little  dresses ;  and  now  I  'm  going  to  read  to 
you.  Betty  has  been  out,  and  bought  you  a  little  fairy  story 
about  a  wonderful  puss  ;  and  here 's  '  Little  Timothy  Pip  ; ' 
which  will  you  have  ?  " 

"  Mamma  used  to  read  to  me  out  of  the  Bible,"  said  little 
Mary,  as  her  long  lashes  swept  her  cheek. 

Helen  started :  a  bright  crimson  flush  passed  over  her  face, 
and  bending  low,  she  kissed  the  child's  forehead  reverentially. 

"  About  the  crucifixion,  please,"  said  Mary,  as  Helen  seated 
herself  by  her  side. 

That  Holy  Book !  Helen  felt  as  if  her  hands  were  "  unclean." 
She  began  to  read ;  perhaps  the  print  might  not  have  been  clear ; 
but  she  stopped  often,  and  drew  her  small  hand  across  her 
eyes.  Her  voice  grew  tremulous.  Years  of  worldliness  had 
come  between  her  and  that  sad,  touching  story.  It  came  upon 
her  now  with  startling  force  and  freshness.  Earth,  with  its 
puerile  cares  and  pleasures,  dwindled  to  a  point.  Oh,  what 
"  cross  "  had  her  shoulders  borne  1  What  "  crown  of  thorns  " 
had  pierced  her  brows?  How  had  her  careless  feet  turned 
aside  from  the  footsteps  of  Calvary's  meek  sufferer  ! 

"  Thank  you,"  said  little  Mary,  rousing  Helen  from  her  rev 
erie  ;  "  mamma  used  to  pray  to  God  to  make  me  patient,  and 
take  me  to  Heaven." 

"  Tears  started  to  Helen's  eyes.  How  could  she  tell  that 
sinless  little  one  she  kneio  not  how  to  pray  ?  Ah !  she  was 
the  pupil,  Mary  the  teacher !  Laying  her  cheek  to  hers,  she 

said  in  a  soft  whisper,  "  Pray  for  us  both,  dear  Mary." 
14b 


210       HELEN  HAVEN'S  "HAPPY  NEW  YEAR." 

With  sweet,  touching,  simple  eloquence  that  little  silvery 
voice  floated  on  the  air !  The  little  emaciated  hand  upon  which 
Helen's  face  was  pressed,  was  wet  with  tears  —  happy  tears ! 
Oh,  this  was  what  that  restless  soul  had  craved  !  Here  at  "  the 
cross,"  that  world-fettered  spirit  should  plume  itself  for  an 
angel's  ceaseless  flight.  Aye,  and  a  little  child  had  led  "  her  " 
there  ! 


Adolph  Grey  wandered  listlessly  through  that  brilliant  ball 
room.  There  were  sweet  voices,  and  sweeter  faces,  and  grace 
ful,  floating  forms ;  but  his  eye  rested  on  none  of  them. 

"Pray, 'where  is  Lady  Helen1?"  said  he,  wandering  up  to 
his  gay  hostess,  with  a  slight  shade  of  embarrassment. 

"  All,  you  may  well  ask  that !  I  'in  so  vexed  at  her  !  Every 
man  in  the  room  is  as  savage  as  a  New  Zealander.  She  has 
turned  Methodist,  that 's  all.  Just  imagine ;  our  peerless 
Helen  thumbing  greasy  hymn-books  at  vestry  meetings,  listen 
ing  to  whining  preachers,  and  hunting  up  poor  dirty  beggar 
children !  I  declare,  I  thought  she  had  too  much  good  sense. 
Well,  there  it  is ;  and  you  may  as  well  hang  your  harp  on  the 
willows.  She'll  have  nothing  to  say  to  you  now;  for  you 
know  you  are  a  sinner,  Grey." 

"  Very  true,"  said  Grey,  as  he  went  into  the  ante-room  to 
cloak  himself  for  a  call  upon  Helen ;  "  I  am  a  sinner ;  but  if 
any  woman  can  make  a  saint  of  me,  it  is  Lady  Helen.  I  have 
looked  upon  women  only  as  toys  to  pass  away  the  time ;  but 
under  that  gay  exterior  of  Helen's  there  was  always  something 


HELEN  HAVEN'S  "HAPPY  NEW  YEAR."  211 

to  which  my  better  nature  bowed  in  reverence.  'A  Meth 
odist,'  is  she  1  Well,  be  it  so.  She  has  a  soul  above  yonder 
frivolity,  and  I  respect  her  for  it." 


If  in  after  years  the  great  moral  questions  of  the  day  had 
more  interest  for  Adolph  Grey  than  the  pleasures  of  the  turf, 
the  billiard  room,  or  the  wine  party,  who  shall  say  that  Lady 
Helen's  influence  was  not  a  blessed  one  1 

Oh,  if  woman's'beauty,  and  power,  and  witchery  were  oftener 
used  for  a  high  and  holy  purpose,  how  many  who  now  bend  a 
careless  knee  at  her  shrine,  would  hush  the  light  laugh  and 
irreverent  jest,  and  almost  feel,  as  she  passed,  that  an  angeTs 
wing  had  rustled  by  ! 


DOLLARS    AND    DIMES. 

"Dollars  and  dimes,  dollars  and  dimes, 
An  empty  pocket  is  the  worst  of  crimes. 

"X  ES  ;  and  don't  you  presume  to  show  yourself  anywhere, 
until  you  get  it  filled.  "  Not  among  good  people  1 "  No,  my 
dear  Simplicity,  not  among  "  good  people."  They  will  receive 
you  with  a  galvanic  ghost  of  a  smile,  scared  up  by  an  indistinct 
recollection  of  the  "  ten  commandments,"  but  it  will  be  as  short 
lived  as  their  stay  with  you.  You  are  not  welcome  —  that 's 
the  amount  of  it.  They  are  all  in  a  perspiration  lest  you 
should  be  delivered  of  a  request  for  their  assistance,  before  they 
can  get  rid  of  you.  They  are  "  very  busy,"  and  what 's  more, 
they  always  will  be  busy  when  you  call,  until  you  get  to  the 
top  of  fortune's  ladder. 

Climb,  man  !  climb  !  Get  to  the  top  of  the  ladder,  though 
adverse  circumstances  and  false  friends  break  every  round  in 
it !  and  see  what  a  glorious  and  extensive  prospect  of  human 
nature  you  '11  get  when  you  arrive  at  the  summit !  Your 
gloves  will  be  worn  out  shaking  hands  with  the  very  people 
who  did  n't  recognize  your  existence  two  months  ago.  "  You 
must  come  and  make  me  a  long  visit ;  "  "  you  must  stop  in  at 
any  time ;  "  "  you  'II  always  be  welcome ; "  it  is  such  a  long 


DOLLARS     AND    DIMES.  213 

time  since  they  had  the  pleasure  of  a  visit  from  you,  that  they 
begin  to  fear  you  never  intended  to  come  ;  and  they  '11  cap  the 
climax  by  inquiring  with  an  injured  air,  "  if  you  are  nearsight 
ed,  or  why  you  have  so  often  passed  them  in  the  street  with 
out  speaking." 

Of  course,  you  will  feel  very  much  like  laughing  in  their 
faces,  and  so  you  can.  You  can't  do  anything  wrong,  now  that 
your  "  pocket  is  full."  At  the  most,  it  will  only  be  "  an  eccen 
tricity."  You  can  use  anybody's  neck  for  a  footstool,  bridle 
anybody's  mouth  with  a  silver  bit,  and  have  as  many  "  golden 
opinions"  as  you  like.  You  won't  see  a  frown  again  between 
this  and  your  tombstone ! 


OUR    NELLY. 

"Wno  is  she1?"  "Why,  that  is  our  Nelly,  to  be  sure. 
Nobody  ever  passed  Nelly  without  asking,  'Who  is  she1?' 
One  can't  forget  the  glance  of  that  blue  eye ;  nor  the  waving 
of  those  golden  locks ;  nor  the  breezy  grace  of  that  lithe  figure  ; 
nor  those  scarlet  lips ;  nor  the  bright,  glad  sparkle  of  the  whole 
face ;  and  then,  she  is  not  a  bit  proud,  although  she  steps  so 
like  a  queen ;  she  would  shake  hands  just  as  quick  with  a  horny 
palm  as  with  a  kid  glove.  The  world  can't  spoil  '  our  Nelly ;' 
her  heart  is  in  the  right  place. 

"  You  should  have  seen  her  thank  an  old  farmer,  the  other 
day,  for  clearing  the  road  that  she  might  pass.  He  shaded  his 
eyes  with  his  hand  when  she  swept  by,  as  if  he  had  been  dazzled 
by  a  sudden  flash  of  sunlight,  and  muttered  to  himself,  as  he 
looked  after  her  — '  Won't  she  make  somebody's  heart  ache  1 ' 
Well,  she  has ;  but  it  is  because  from  among  all  her  lovers  she 
could  marry  but  one,  and  (God  save  us !)  that  her  choice  should 
have  fallen  upon  Walter  May.  If  he  don't  quench  out  the 
love-light  in  those  blue  eyes,  my  name  is  not  John  Morrison. 
I  'vc  seen  his  eyes  flash  when  things  did  n't  suit  him  ;  I  've  seen 
him  nurse  his  wrath  to  keep  it  warm  till  the  smouldering  em 
bers  were  ready  for  a  conflagration.  He 's  as  vindictive  as  an 


OUR     NELLY.  215 

Indian.  I  'd  as  soon  mate  a  dove  with  a  tiger,  as  give  him 
'  our  Nelly.'  There 's  a  dozen  noble  fellows,  this  hour,  ready 
to  lay  down  their  lives  for  her,  and  yet  out  of  the  whole  crowd 
she  must  choose  Walter  May  !  Oh,  I  have  no  patience  to 
think  of  it.  Well-a-day !  mark  my  words,  he  will  break  her 
heart  before  a  twelvemonth !  He 's  a  pocket  edition  of  Na 
poleon." 


A  year  had  passed  by,  and  amid  the  hurry  of  business  and 
the  din  of  the  great  city,  I  had  quite  forgotten  Glenburn  and  its 
fairy  queen.  It  was  a  time  to  recall  her  to  mind,  that  lovely 
June  morning  —  with  its  soft  fleecy  clouds,  its  glad  sunlight,  its 
song  of  birds,  and  its  breath  of  roses ;  and  so  I  threw  the  reins 
on  Romeo's  neck,  that  he  might  choose  his  own  pace  down  the 
sweet-briar  path,  to  John  Morrison's  cottage.  And  there  sat 
John,  in  the  doorway,  smoking  his  pipe,  with  Towser  crouched 
at  his  feet,  in  the  same  old  spot,  just  as  if  the  sun  had  never 
gone  down  behind  the  hills  since  I  parted  with  him. 

"  And  '  our  Nelly  1 '  "  said  I,  taking  up  the  thread  of  his  year- 
old  narrative  as  though  it  had  never  been  broken  —  "  and  '  our 
Nelly  ? ' " 

"  Under  the  sod,"  said  the  old  man,  with  a  dark  frown ;  "  un 
der  the  sod.  He  broke  her  heart,  just  as  I  told  you  he  would. 
Such  a  bridal  as  it  was  !  I  'd  as  lief  have  gone  to  a  funeral. 
And  then  Walter  carried  her  off  to  the  city,  where  she  was  as 
much  out  of  her  element  as  a  humming-bird  in  a  meeting-house  ; 


216  OUR     NELLY. 

and  tried  to  make  a  fine  lady  of  her,  with  stiff,  city  airs,  and 
stiff,  city  manners.  It  was  like  trying  to  fetter  the  soft  west 
wind,  which  comes  and  goes  at  its  own  sweet  will ;  and  Nelly 
—  who  was  only  another  name  for  Nature  —  pined  and 
drooped  like  a  bird  in  a  darkened  cage. 

"  One  by  one  her  old  friends  dropped  off,  wearied  with  re 
peated  and  rude  repulses  from  her  moody  husband,  till  he  was 
left,  as  he  desired,  master  of  the  field.  It  was  astonishing  the 
ascendency  he  gained  over  his  sweet  wife,  contemptible  as  he 
was.  She  made  no  objection  to  his  most  absurd  requirements ; 
but  her  step  lost  its  spring,  her  eye  its  sparkle  ;  and  one  might 
listen  long  for  her  merry-ringing  laugh.  Slowly,  sadly  to 
Nelly  came  that  terrible  conviction  from  which  a  wife  has  no 
appeal. 

Ah!  there  is  no  law  to  protect  woman  from  negative 
abuse !  —  no  mention  made  in  the  statute  book  (which  men 
frame  for  themselves),  of  the  constant  dropping  of  daily  dis 
comforts  which  wear  the  loving  heart  away  —  no  allusion  to 
looks  or  words  that  are  like  poisoned  arrows  to  the  sinking 
spirit.  No  !  if  she  can  show  no  mark  of  brutal  fingers  on  her 
delicate  flesh,  he  has  fulfilled  his  legal  promise  to  the  letter  — 
to  love,  honor  and  cherish  her.  Out  on  such  a  mockery  of 
justice ! 

"  Well,  sir ;  Nelly  fluttered  back  to  Glenburn,  with  the  bro 
ken  wing  of  hope,  to  die !  So  wasted !  so  lovely  !  The  lips 
that  blessed  her,  could  not  choose  but  curse  him.  She  leaned 
on  a  broken  reed,"  said  her  old  gray-haired  father,  as  he 
closed  her  blue  eyes  forever.  " '  May  God  forgive  him,  for  I 


OUR     NELLY.  217 

never  can,'  said  an  old  lover,  whose  heart  was  buried  in  her 
grave. 

"'  NELLY  MAT,  aged  18.' 

K  You  11  read  it  in  the  village  churchyard,  Sir.  Eighteen ! 
Brief  years,  Sir,  to  drain  all  of  happiness  Life's  cup  could 
offer ! " 

J 


"STUDY   MEN,  NOT   BOOKS." 

OH,  but  books  are  such  safe  company !  They  keep  your 
secrets  well ;  they  never  boast  that  they  made  your  eyes  glis 
ten,  or  your  cheek  flush,  or  your  heart  throb.  You  may  take 
up  your  favorite  author,  and  love  him  at  a  distance  just  as 
warmly  as  you  like,  for  all  the  sweet  fancies  and  glowing 
thoughts  that  have  winged  your  lonely  hours  so  fleetly  and  so 
sweetly.  Then  you  may  close  the  book,  and  lean  your  cheek 
against  the  cover,  as  if  it  were  the  face  of  a  dear  friend ;  shut 
your  eyes  and  soliloquise  to  your  heart's  content,  without  fear 
of  misconstruction,  even  though  you  should  exclaim  in  the  full 
ness  of  your  enthusiasm,  "  What  an  adorable  soul  that  man 
has  !  "  You  may  put  the  volume  under  your  pillow,  and  let 
your  eye  and  the  first  ray  of  morning  light  fall  on  it  together, 
and  no  Argus  eyes  shall  rob  you  of  that  delicious  pleasure,  no 
carping  old  maid,  or  strait-laced  Pharisee  shall  cry  out,  "  it 
is  n't  proper  I  "  You  may  have  a  thousand  petty,  provoking, 
irritating  annoyances  through  the  day,  and  you  shall  comeback 
again  to  your  dear  old  book,  and  forget  them  all  hi  dream 
land.  It  shall  be  a  friend  that  shall  be  always  at  hand ;  that 
shall  never  try  you  by  caprice,  or  pain  you  by  forgetfulness,  or 
wound  you  by  distrust. 


STUDY    MEN,    NOT     BOOKS.  219 

Study  men  !  " 

Well,  try  it !  I  don't  believe  there  's  any  neutral  territory 
where  that  interesting  study  can  be  pursued  as  it  should  be. 
Before  you  get  to  the  end  of  the  first  chapter,  they  '11  be  ma 
king  love  to  you  from  the  mere  force  of  habit  —  and  because 
silks,  and  calicoes,  and  delaines,  naturally  suggest  it.  It 's  just 
as  natural  to  them  as  it  is  to  sneeze  when  a  ray  of  sunshine 
flashes  suddenly  in  their  faces.  "  Study  men !  "  That 's  a 
game,  my  dear,  that  two  can  play  at.  Do  you  suppose  they 
are  going  to  sit  quietly  down  and  let  you  dissect  their  hearts, 
without  returning  the  compliment  1  No,  indeed !  that 's  where 
they  differ  slightly  from  "books!" — they  always  expect  an 
equivalent. 

Men  are  a  curious  study !  Sometimes  it  pays  to  read  to 
"  the  end  of  the  volume,"  and  then  again,  it  don't  —  mostly 
the  latter ! 


"MURDER   OF  THE  INNOCENTS;" 

OK,   HOME     THE     PLACE    FOR     MARRIED     S1 0  L  K  S 

HAPPY  Mrs.  Emily  !  Freed  from  the  thraldom  of  house 
keeping,  and  duly  installed  mistress  of  a  fine  suite  of  rooms  at 

Hotel.     No  more  refractory  servants  to  oversee,  no  more 

silver  or  porcelain  to  guard,  no  more  cupboards,  or  closets,  or 
canisters  to  explore ;  no  more  pickles  or  preserves  to  make ; 
no  more  bills  of  fare  to  invent,  —  and  over  and  above  all,  mis 
tress  of  a  bell-wire  which  was  not  "  tabooed  "  on  washing  and 
ironing  days. 

Time  to  lounge  on  the  sofa,  and  devour  "  yellow-covered  lit 
erature  ;  "  time  to  embroider  caps,  and  collars,  and  chemisettes ; 
tune  to  contemplate  the  pretty  face  where  housekeeping  might 
have  planted  "  crows  feet,"  had  she  not  fortunately  foreseen  the 
symptoms,  and  turned  her  back  on  dull  Care  and  all  his  croak 
ing  crew. 

Happy  Mrs.  Emily !  No  bird  let  loose  from  a  cage  was 
ever  more  joyous  ;  not  even  her  own  little  children  —  for  she 
had  two  of  them,  and  pretty  creatures  they  were  too,  with 
their  cherry  lips,  and  dimpled  limbs,  and  flaxen  ringlets  ;  and 
very  weary  they  grew,  of  their  gloomy  nursery,  with  its 
one  window,  commanding  a  view  of  a  dingy  shed  and  a  tall 


MURDKR  OF  THH  INNOCENTS.        221 

spectral-looking  distilhouse  chimney,  emitting  clouds  of  smoke 
and  suffocating  vapor.  Nannie,  the  nurse,  did  n't  fancy  it,  either, 
so  she  spent  her  time  in  the  lobbies  and  entries,  challenging 
compliments  from  white-jacketed  waiters,  while  the  children 
peeped  curiously  into  the  half-open  doors,  taking  drafts  of  cold 
air  on  their  bare  necks  and  shoulders.  Sometimes  they  bal 
anced  themselves  alarmingly  on  the  spiral  ballustrade,  gazing 
down  into  the  dizzy  Babel  bel'ow,  inhaling  clouds  of  cigar  smoke, 
and  listening,  with  round-eyed  wonder,  to  strange  conversations, 
which  memory's  cud  should  chew,  for  riper  years  to  digest. 

"No  children  allowed  at  the  table  d'hote  "  —  so  the  "  hotel 
regulations  "  pompously  set  forth  —  the  landlord's  tablecloths, 
gentlemen's  broadcloth,  and  ladies'  silk  dresses  being  sworn  foes 
to  little  Paul  Pry  fingers.  Poor  little  exiles  !  they  took  their 
sorrowful  meals  in  the  servants'  hall,  with  their  respective  nur 
ses,  the  bill  of  fare  consisting  of  a  rehash  of  yesterday's  French 
dishes,  (spiced  for  the  digestion  of  an  ostrich.)  This  was  fol 
lowed  by  a  dessert  of  stale  pastry  and  ancient  raisins,  each 
nurse  at  the  outset  propitiating  her  infant  charge  with  a  huge 
bunch,  that  she  might  regale  herself  with  the  substantial !  — 
mamma,  meanwhile,  blissfully  ignoring  the  whole  affair,  absorb 
ed  in  the  sublime  occupation  of  making  German  worsted  dogs. 

Papa,  too,  had  his  male  millennium.  No  more  marketing 
to  do ;  no  more  coal,  or  wood,  or  kindling  to  buy ;  no  cistern, 
or  pump,  or  gaspipe  to  keep  in  repair.  Such  a  luxury  as  it 
was  to  have  a  free  pass  to  the  "  smoking  room,"  (alias  bar-room,} 
where  the  atmosphere  was  so  dense  that  he  couldn't  tell  the 


222        MURDER  OF  THE  INNOCENTS. 

latitude  of  his  nose,  and  surrounded  by  "  hale  fellows  well  met." 
His  eldest  boy  accompanied  him,  listening,  on  his  knee,  to 
questionable  jokes,  which  he  repeated  at  bed-time  to  pert  Nan 
nie,  the  nurse,  who  understood  their  significance  much  better 
than  his  innocent  little  lordship. 

Papa,  to  be  sure,  had  some  drawbacks,  but  they  were  VERY 
trifling ;  —  for  instance,  his  shirts  were  quite  buttonless,  his 
dickeys  stringless,  and  his  stockings  had  ventilator  toes ;  —  but 
then,  how  could  mamma  be  seen  patching  and  mending  in  such 
an  aristocratic  atmosphere  ?  —  she  might  lose  caste ;  arid  as  to 
Nannie,  her  hands  were  full,  what  with  babies  and  billet-doux. 

You  should  have  seen  Mrs.  Emily  in  the  evening;  with 
sparkling  eyes  and  bracelets,  flounced  robe  and  daintily-shod 
feet,  twisting  her  Chinese  fan,  listening  to  moustached  idlers. 
and  recollecting,  with  a  shudder,  the  long  Caudle  evenings. 
formerly  divided  between  her  husband,  his  newspaper,  and  her 
darning-needle. 

Then  the  petite  soupers  at  ten  o'clock  in  the  evening,  where 
the  ladies  were  enchanting,  the  gentlemen  quite  entirely  irre 
sistible  ;  where  wit  and  champagne  corks  flew  with  equal  celer 
ity  ;  and  headaches,  and  dyspepsia,  and  nightmare,  lay  perdu 
amid  fried  oysters,  venison  steaks,  chicken  salad,  and  India- 
rubber^  anti-temperance  jellies. 

Then  followed  the  midnight  reunion  in  the  drawing-room, 
where  promiscuous  polkaing  and  waltzing,  (seen  through  cham 
pagne  fumes,)  seemed  not  only  proper,  but  delightful. 


MURDER  OF  THE  INNOCENTS.         %%3 

It  was  midnight.  There  was  hurrying  to  and  fro  in  the 
entry  halls  and  lobbies ;  a  quick>  sharp  cry  for  medical  help ; 
the  sobs  and  tears  of  an  agonized  mother,  and  the  low  moan 
of  a  dying  child  ;  for  nature  had  rebelled  at  last,  at  impure  air, 
unwholesome  food,  and  alternate  heats  and  chills. 

"  No  hope,"  the  doctor  said ;  "  no  hope,"  papa  mechanically 
repeated  ;  "  no  hope  !  "  echoed  inexorable  Death,  as  he  laid 
his  icy  finger  on  the  quivering  little  lips. 

It  was  a  dearly  bought  lesson.  The  Lady  Emily  never  for 
got  it.  Over  her  remaining  bud  of  promise  she  tearfully  bends, 
finding  her  quiet  happiness  in  the  healthful,  sacred  and  safe 
retreat  of  the  home  fireside. 


AMERICAN  LADIES. 

4» 

"The  American  ladles,  when  promenading,  cross  their  arms  in  front,  and  look  like 
trussed  turkeys." 

WELL,  you  ought  to  pity  us,  for  we  have  no  such  escape- 
valves  for  our  awkwardness  as  you  have  —  no  dickeys  to  pull 
up  —  no  vests  to  pull  down  —  no  breast  pockets,  side  pockets, 
flap  pockets  to  explore  —  no  cigars  between  our  teeth  —  no 
switch  canes  in  our  hands  —  no  beavers  to  twitch,  when  we 
meet  an  acquaintance.  Don't  you  yourselves  oblige  us  to  reef 
in  our  rigging,  and  hold  it  down  tight  with  our  little  paws  over 
our  belts,  under  penalty  of  being  dragged  half  a  mile  by  one 
of  your  buttons,  when  you  tear  past  us  like  so  many  comets. 

Is  it  any  joke  to  us  to  stand  vis-a-vis,  with  a  strange  man, 
before  a  crowd  of  grinning  spectators,  while  you  are  disentan 
gling  the  "  Gordian  knot,"  instead  of  whipping  out  your  pen 
knife  and  sacrificing  your  offending  button,  as  you  ought  to  do  ? 

Is  it  any  joke  to  see  papa  scowl,  when  we  ask  him  for  the 
"  needful,"  to  restore  the  lace  or  fringe  you  tore  off  our  shawl 
or  mantilla1? 

Do  you  suppose  we  can  stop  to  walk  gracefully,  when  our 
minds  have  to  be  in  a  prepared  state  to  have  our  pretty  little 
toes  crushed,  or  our  bonnets  knocked  oflj  or  our  skirts  torn 


AMERICAN     LADIES.  225 

from  our  belts,  or  ourselves  and  our  gaiter  boots  jostled  into  a 
mud-puddle  ? 

Do  you  ever  "  keep  to  the  right,  as  the  law  directs  1 "  Don't 
you  always  go  with  your  heads  hindside  before,  and  then  fetch 
up  against  us  as  if  we  were  made  of  cast-iron  ?  Don't  you  put 
your  great  lazy  hands  in  your  pockets,  and  tramp  along  with  a 
cane  half  a  mile  long  sticking  out  from  under  your  armpits,  to 
the  imminent  danger  of  our  optics  1  "  Trussed  turkeys"  in 
deed  !  No  wonder,  when  we  are  run  a-fowl  of  every  other 
minute. 

15b 


THE  STRAY   SHEEP. 

"  He  's  going  the  wrong  way  —  straying  from  the  true  told  ; 
going  off  the  track,"  said  old  Deacon  Green,  shaking  his  head 
ominously,  as  he  saw  young  Neff  enter  a  church  to  hear  an 
infidel  preacher.  "  Can't  understand  it ;  he  was  taught  his 
catechism  and  ten  commandments  as  soon  as  he  could  speak ; 
he  knows  the  right  way  as  well  as  our  parson ;  I  can't  un 
derstand  it." 

Harry  Neff  had  never  seen  a  day  pass  since  his  earliest 
childhood,  that  was  not  ushered  in  and  closed  with  a  family 
prayer.  He  had  not  partaken  of  a  repast  upon  which  the  di 
vine  blessing  was  not  invoked  ;  the  whole  atmosphere  of  the 
old  homestead  was  decidedly  orthodox.  Novels,  plays  and 
Byronic  poetry  were  all  vetoed.  Operas,  theatres  and  the  like 
most  decidedly  frowned  upon  ;  and  no  lighter  literature  was 
allowed  upon  the  table,  than  missionary  reports  and  theologi 
cal  treatises. 

Most  of  his  father's  guests  being  clergymen,  Harry  was 
early  made  acquainted  with  every  crook  and  turn  of  orthodoxy. 
He  had  laid  up  many  a  clerical  conversation,  and  pondered  it 
in  his  heart,  when  they  imagined  his  thoughts  on  anything  but 
the  subject  in  debate.  At  his  father's  request,  they  had  each 


THE     STRAY     SHEEP.-  227 

and  all  taken  him  by  the  button,  for  the  purpose  of  long,  pri 
vate  conversations  —  the  old  gentleman  generally  prefacing  his 
request  by  the  remark  that  "  his  heart  was  as  hard  as  a  flint." 

Harry  listened  to  them  all  with  respectful  attention,  mani 
festing  no  sign  of  impatience,  no  nervous  shrinking  from  the 
probing  process,  and  they  left  him,  impressed  with  a  sense  of 
his  mental  superiority,  but  totally  unable  to  affect  his  feelings 
in  the  remotest  degree. 

Such  a  pity  !  they  all  said,  that  he  should  be  so  impenetra 
ble  ;  such  wonderful  argumentative  powers  as  he  had ;  such 
felicity  of  expression ;  such  an  engaging  exterior.  Such  a  pity ! 
that  on  all  these  brilliant  natural  gifts  should  not  have  been 
written,  "  Holiness  to  the  Lord." 

Yes,  dear  reader,  it  was  a  pity.  Pity,  when  our  pulpits  are 
so  often  filled  with  those,  whose  only  recommendation  for  their 
office  .is  a  good  heart  and  a  black  coat.  It  was  a  pity  that 
graceful  gesticulation,  that  rare  felicity  of  expression,  that  keen 
perception  of  the  beautiful,  that  ready  tact  and  adaptation  to 
circumstances  and  individuals,  should  not  have  been  effective 
weapons  in  the  gospel  armory.  Pity,  that  voice  of  music 
should  not  have  been  employed,  to  chain  the  worldling's  fas 
tidious  ear  to  listen  to  Calvary's  story. 

Yet  it  was  a  pity  that  glorious  intellect  had  been  laid  at  an 
unholy  shrine;  pity  "he  had  strayed  from  the  true  fold." 
How  was  it  1 

Ah  !  the  solution  is  simple.  "  Line  upon  line,  precept  upon 
precept,"  is  well  —  but  practice  is  better  !  Religion  must  not 
be  all  lip-service  ;  the  "  fruits  of  love,  meekness,  gentleness,  for- 


228  THE     8TRAT     SHEEP. 

bearance,  long-suffering  "  must  follow.  Harry  was  a  keen  ob 
server.  He  had  often  heard  the  harsh  and  angry  word  from 
lips  upon  which  the  Saviour's  name  had  just  lingered.  He  had 
felt  the  unjust,  quick,  passionate  blow  from  the  hand  which  a 
moment  before  had  been  raised  in  supplication  to  Heaven.  He 
had  seen  the  purse-strings  relax  at  the  bidding  of  worldliness, 
and  tighten  at  the  call  of  charity.  He  had  seen  principle  sacri 
ficed  to  policy,  and  duty  to  interest.  He  had  himself  been  misap- 
preciated.  The  shrinking  sensitiveness  which  drew  a  vail  over 
his  most  sacred  feelings,  had  been  harshly  construed  into  hard- 
heartedness  and  indifference.  Every  duty  to  which  his  atten 
tion  was  called,  was  prefaced  with  the  supposition  that  he  was 
averse  to  its  performance.  He  was  cut  off  from  the  gay 
pleasures  which  buoyant  spirits  and  fresh  young  life  so  elo 
quently  plead  for ;  and  in  their  stead  no  innocent  enjoy 
ment  was  substituted.  He  saw  Heaven's  gate  shut  most 
unceremoniously,  upon  all  who  did  not  subscribe  to  the  pa 
rental  creed,  outraging  both  his  own  good  sense  and  the  teach 
ings  of  the  Bible ;  and  so  religion,  (which  should  have  been 
rendered  so  lovely,)  put  on  to  him  an  ascetic  form.  Oh,  what 
marvel  that  the  flowers  in  the  broad  road  were  so  passing  fair 
to  see  1  that  the  forbidden  fruit  of  the  "  tree  of  knowledge  " 
was  so  tempting  to  the  youthful  touch  ? 

Oh,  Christian  parent !  be  consistent,  be  judicious,  be  cheerful. 
If,  as  historians  inform  us,  "  no  smile  ever  played  "  on  the  lips 
of  Jesus  of  Nazareth,  surely  no  frown  marred  the  beauty  of 
that  holy  brow. 

Dear  reader,  true  religion  is  not  gloomy.     "  Her  ways  are 


THE     STRAY     SHEEP.  229 

ways  of  pleasantness,  her  paths  are  peace."  No  man,  no  wo 
man,  has  chart  or  compass,  or  guiding  star,  without  it. 

Religion  is  not  a  fable.  Else  why,  when  our  household  gods 
are  shivered,  do  our  tearful  eyes  seek  only  Heaven  1 

Why,  when  disease  lays  its  iron  grasp  on  bounding  life,  does 
the  startled  soul  so  earnestly,  so  tearfully,  so  imploringly,  call 
on  its  forgotten  Saviour1? 

Ah !  the  house  "  built  upon  the  sand "  may  do  for  sunny 
weather ;  but  when  the  billows  roll,  and  tempests  blow,  and 
lightnings  flash,  and  thunders  roar,  we  need  the  "  Rock  of 
Age*? 


THJi    FASHIONABLE    PREACHER. 

Do  you  call  this  a  church1?  Well,  I  heard  a  prima-donna 
here  a  few  nights  ago :  and  bright  eyes  sparkled,  and  waving 
ringlets  kept  time  to  moving  fans ;  and  opera  glasses  and  ogling, 
and  fashion  and  folly  reigned  for  the  nonce  triumphant.  / 
can't  forget  it ;  I  can't  get  up  any  devotion  here,  under  these 
latticed  balconies,  with  their  fashionable  freight.  If  it  were  a 
good  old  country  church,  with  a  cracked  bell  and  unhewn  raf 
ters,  a  pine  pulpit,  with  the  honest  sun  staring  in  through  the 
windows,  a  pitch-pipe  in  the  gallery,  and  a  few  hob-nailed  rus 
tics  scattered  round  in  the  uncushioned  seats,  I  should  feel  all 
right ;  but  my  soul  is  in  fetters  here ;  it  won't  soar  —  its  wings 
are  earth-clipped.  Things  are  all  too  fine !  Nobody  can  come 
in  at  that  door,  whose  hat  and  coat  and  bonnet  are  not  fashion 
ably  cut.  The  poor  man  (minus  a  Sunday  suit)  might  lean  on 
his  staff,  in  the  porch,  a  long  while,  before  he  'd  dare  venture 
in,  to  pick  up  his  crumb  of  the  Bread  of  Life.  But,  thank 
God,  the  unspoken  prayer  of  penitence  may  wing  its  way  to 
the  Eternal  Throne,  though  our  mocking  church  spires  point 
only  with  aristocratic  fingers  to  the  rich  man's  heaven. 

—  That  hymn  was  beautifully  read ;  there 's  poetry  in  the 
preacher's  soul.  Now  he  tafces  his  seat  by  the  reading-desk ; 


THE     FASHIONABLE     PREACHER.  231 

now  he  crosses  the  platform,  and  offers  his  hymn-book  to  a 
female  who  has  just  entered.  What  right  has  he  to  know  there 
is  a  woman  in  the  house  ?  'Tis  n't  clerical !  Let  the  bonnets 
find  their  own  hymns. 

Well,  I  take  a  listening  attitude,  and  try  to  believe  I  am  in 
church.  I  hear  a  great  many  original,  a  great  many  startling 
things  said.  I  see  the  gauntlet  thrown  at  the  dear  old  ortho 
dox  sentiments  which  I  nursed  in  with  my  mother's  milk,  and 
which  (please  God)  I  '11  cling  to  till  I  die.  I  see  the  polished 
blade  of  s  itire  glittering  in  the  air,  followed  by  curious,  eager, 
youthful  eyes,  which  gladly  see  the  searching  "  Sword  of  the 
Spirit "  parried.  Meaning  glances,  smothered  smiles  and  ap 
proving  nods  follow  the  witty  clerical  sally.  The  orator  pauses 
to  mark  the  effect,  and  his  face  says,  That  stroke  tells  I  and  so 
it  did,  for  "  the  Athenians  "  are  not  all  dead,  who  "  love  to  see 
and  hear  some  new  thing."  But  he  has  another  arrow  in  his 
quiver.  Now  his  features  soften  —  his  voice  is  low  and  thril 
ling,  his  imagery  beautiful  and  touching.  He  speaks  of  human 
love ;  he  touches  skilfully  a  chord  to  which  every  heart  vibrates ; 
and  stern  manhood  is  struggling  with  his  tears,  ere  his  smiles 
are  chased  away. 

Oh,  there 's  intellect  there  —  there 's  poetry  there  —  there 's 
genius  there  ;  but  I  remember  Gethsemane  —  I  forget  not  Cal 
vary  !  I  know  the  "  rocks  were  rent,"  and  the  "  heavens  dark 
ened,"  and  "  the  stone  rolled  away ;"  and  a  cold  chill  strikes  to 
my  heart  when  I  hear  "  Jesus  of  Nazareth  "  lightly  mentioned. 

Oh,  what  are  intellect,  and  poetry,  and  genius,  when  with 
Jewish  voice  they  cry,  "  Away  with  HIM  !  " 


232  THE    FASHIONABLE     PREACHER. 

With  "  Mary,"  let  me  "  bathe  his  feet  with  my  tears,  and 
•wipe  them  with  the  hairs  of  my  head." 

And  so,  I  "  went  away  sorrowful, "  that  this  human  preacher, 
with  such  great  intellectual  possessions,  should  yet  "  lack  the 
one  thing  needful" 


"CASH."* 

DON'T  think  I'm  going  to  perpetrate  a  monetary  article. 
No  fancy  that  way  !  I  ignore  anything  approaching  to  a  stock  I 
I  refer  now  to  that  omnipresent,  omniscient,  ubiquitous,  express- 
train  little  victim,  so  baptized  in  the  dry-goods  stores,  who 
hears  nothing  but  the  everlasting  word  cash  dinned  in  his  juve 
nile  ears  from  matin  to  vespers ;  whose  dangerous  duty  it  is 
to  rush  through  a  crowd  of  expectant  and  impatient  feminines, 
without  suffering  his  jacket-buttons  to  become  too  intimately 
acquainted  with  the  fringes  of  their  shawls,  or  the  laces  of  their 
mantillas !  and  to  dodge  so  dexterously  as  not  to  knock  down, 
crush  under  foot,  or  otherwise  damage  the  string  of  juveniles 
that  said  women  are  bound  to  place  as  obstructions  in  said 
"  Cash's  "  way  ! 

See  him  double,  and  turn,  and  twist,  like  a  rabbit  in  a  wood, 
while  that  word  of  command  flies  from  one  clerk's  lip  to  an 
other.  Poor,  demented  little  Cash  !  Where  is  your  anxious 
maternal?  Who  finds  you  in  patience  and  shoe  leather? 
Does  your  pillow  ever  suggest  anything  to  your  weary  brain 
but  pillarless  quarters,  and  crossed  sixpences,  and  faded  bank 
bills  ?  When  do  you  find  time,  you  poor  little  victim,  to 
comb  your  hair,  digest  your  victuals,  and  say  your  catechise  ? 

*  The  boy  employed  In  store*  to  fetch  and  carry  change. 


234  "CASH  ." 

.  Do  you  ever  look  back  with  a  sigh  to  the  days  of  peppermints, 
peanuts  and  pinafores  1  Or  forward,  in  the  dim  distance,  to  a 
vision  of  a  long-tailed  coat,  a  high-standing  dickey,  and  no  more 
"Cash"  save  in  your  pantaloons'  pocket1?  Don't  you  ever 
catch  yourself  wishing  that  a  certain  rib  of  Adam's  had  never 
been  subtracted  from  his  paradisiacal  side  1 

Poor,  miserable  little  Cash !  you  have  my  everlasting  sym 
pathy  !  I  should  go  shopping  twenty  times,  where  I  now  go 
once,  did  'nt  it  harrow  up  my  feelings  to  see  you  driven  on  so, 
like  a  locomotive  !  "  Here 's  hoping  "  you  may  soon  be  made 
sensible  of  more  than  one  meaning  to  the  word  CHANGE  ! 


ONLY   A   CHILD. 

"  \Vho  is  to  bo  buried  here  ? "  said  I  to  the  sexton.    "  Only  a  child,  ma'am." 

Only  a  child !  Oh  !  had  you  ever  been  a  mother  —  had 
you  nightly  pillowed  that  little  golden  head  —  had  you  slept 
the  sweeter  for  that  little  velvet  hand  upon  your  breast  —  had 
you  waited  for  the  first  intelligent  glance  from  those  blue  eyes 
— had  you  watched  its  cradle  slumbers,  tracing  the  features  of 
him  who  stole  your  girlish  heart  away — had  you  wept  a  widow's 
tears  over  its  unconscious  head  —  had  your  desolate,  timid 
heart  gained  courage  from  that  little  piping  voice,  to  wrestle 
with  the  jostling  crowd  for  daily  bread  —  had  its  loving  smiles 
and  prattling  words  been  sweet  recompense  for  such  sad  expo 
sure  —  had  the  lonely  future  been  brightened  by  the  hope  of 
that  young  arm  to  lean  upon,  that  bright  eye  for  your  guiding 
star  —  had  you  never  framed  a  plan,  or  known  a  hope  or  fear, 
of  which  that  child  was  not  a  part ;  —  if  there  was  naught  else 
on  earth  left  for  you  to  love  —  if  disease  came,  and  its  eye 
grew  dim ;  and  food,  and  rest,  and  sleep  were  forgotten  in  your 
anxious  fears — if  you  paced  the  floor,  hour  by  hour,  with  that 
fragile  burden,  when  your  very  touch  seemed  to  give  comfort 
and  healing  to  that  little  quivering  frame — had  the  star  of 
hope  set  at  last — had  you  hung  over  its  dying  pillow,  when 


236  ONLY     A      CHILD. 

the  strong  breast  you  should  have  wept  on  was  in  the  grave, 
where  your  child  was  hastening  —  had  you  caught  alone  its 
last  faint  cry  for  the  "  help  "  you  could  not  give  —  had  its 
last  fluttering  sigh  been  breathed  out  on  your  breast  —  Oh ! 
could  you  have  said  —  "  "Pis  only  a  child  1 " 


ME.    PIPKIN'S    IDEAS    OF   FAMILY    RE 
TRENCHMENT. 

MRS.  PIPKIN,  I  am  under  the  disagreeable  necessity  of  in 
forming  you,  that  our  family  expenses  are  getting  to  be  enor 
mous.  I  see  that  carpet  woman  charged  you  a  dollar  for  one 
day's  work.  Why,  that  is  positively  a  man's  wages ;  —  such 
presumption  is  intolerable.  Pity  you  did  not  make  it  your 
self,  Mrs.  Pipkin ;  wives  ought  to  lift  their  end  of  the  yoke ; 
that 's  my  creed. 

Little  Tom  Pipkin,  —  Papa,  may  I  have  this  bit  of  paper 
on  the  floor  ?  it  is  your  tailor's  bill  —  says,  "  $400  for  your 
last  year's  clothes." 

Mr.  Pipkin.  —  Tom,  go  to  bed,  and  learn  never  to  inter 
rupt  your  father  when  he  is  talking.  Yes,  as  I  was  saying, 
Mrs.  Pipkin,  wives  should  hold  up  their  end  of  the  yoke ;  and 
it  is  high  time  there  was  a  little  retrenchment  here ;  superflui 
ties  must  be  dispensed  with. 

Bridget.  —  Please,  sir,  there  are  three  baskets  of  champagne 
just  come  for  you,  and  four  boxes  of  cigars. 

Mr.  Pipkin.  —  Will  you  please  lock  that  door,  Mrs.  Pip 
kin,  till  I  can  get  a  chance  to  say  what  I  have  to  say  to  you 
on  this  subject.  I  was  thinking  to-day,  that  you  might  dis 
pense  with  your  nursery  maid,  and  take  care  of  baby  yourself. 


238  FAMILY     RETRENCHMENT. 

He  don't  cry  much,  except  nights  ;  and  since  I  've  slept  alone 
up  stairs,  I  don't  hear  the  little  tempest  at  all.  It  is  really  quite 
a  relief —  that  child's  voice  is  a  perfect  ear-splitter. 

I  think  I  shall  get  you,  too,  to  take  charge  of  the  marketing 
and  providing,  (on  a  stipulated  allowance  from  me,  of  course,) 

it  will  give  me  so  much  more  time  to attend  to  business, 

Mrs.  Pipkin.  I  shall  take  my  own  dinners  down  town  at  the 

House.  I  hear  Stevens  is  an  excellent  "  caterer ; " 

(though  that 's  nothing  to  me,  of  course,  as  my  only  object  in 
going  is  to  meet  business  acquaintances  from  different  parts  of 
the  Union,  to  drive  a  bargain,  &c.,  &c.) 

Well  —  it  will  cost  you  and  the  children  little  or  nothing 
for  your  dinners.  There  's  nothing  so  disgusting  to  a  man  of 
refinement,  like  myself,  as  to  see  a  woman  fond  of  eating ;  and 
as  to  children,  any  fool  knows  they  ought  not  to  be  allowed  to 
stuff  their  skins,  like  little  anacondas.  Yes,  our  family  expen 
ses  ara  enormous.  My  partner  sighed  like  a  pair  of  bellows 
at  that  last  baby  you  had,  Mrs.  Pipkin ;  oh,  it 's  quite  ruinous — 
but  I  can't  stop  to  talk  now,  I'm  going  to  try  a  splendid 
horse  which  is  offered  me  at  a  bargain  —  (too  frisky  for  you 
to  ride,  my  dear,  but  just  the  thing  for  me.) 

You  had  better  dismiss  your  nursery  girl  this  afternoon ; 
that  will  begin  to  look  like  retrenchment.  Good-bye ;  if  I 
am  not  home  till  late,  don't  sit  up  for  me,  as  I  have  ordered 

a  supper  at House  for  my  old  friend,  Tom  Hillar,  of 

New  Orleans.  We  '11  drink  this  toast,  my  dear  :  "  Here  's 
hoping  the  last  little  Pipkin  may  never  have  his  nose  put  out 
of  joint." 


A  CHAPTER  FOR   NICE  OLD  FARMERS. 

CAN  anybody  tell  why  country  people  so  universally  and 
pertinaciously  persist  in  living  in  the  rear  of  the  house  ?  Can 
anybody  tell  why  the  front  door  and  windows  are  never  opened, 
save  on  Fourth  of  July  and  at  Thanksgiving  time  1  Why  Zede- 
kiah,  and  Timothy,  and  Jonathan,  and  the  old  farmer  himself, 
must  go  round  the  house  in  order  to  get  info  it  ?  Why  the 
whole  family  (oblivious  of  six  empty  rooms,)  take  their  "  va 
por  bath,"  and  their  meals,  simultaneously,  in  the  vicinity  of  a 
red  hut  cooking  range,  in  the  dog-days'?  Why  the  village 
artist  need  paint  the  roof,  and  spout,  and  window  frames  bright 
crimson,  and  the  doors  the  color  of  a  mermaid's  tresses? 
Why  the  detestable  sunflower  (which  I  can  never  forgive  "  Tom 
Moore  "  for  noticing)  must  always  flaunt  in  the  garden  1  Why 
the  ungraceful  prim  poplar,  fit  emblem  of  a  stiff  old  bachelor, 
is  preferred  to  the  swaying  elm,  or  drooping  willow,  or  ma 
jestic  horse-chestnut. 

I  should  like  to  pull  down  the  green  paper  window-curtains, 
and  hang  up  some  of  snowy  muslin.  I  should  like  to  throw 
wide  open  the  hall  door,  and  let  the  south  wind  play  through. 
I  should  like  to  go  out  into  the  woods,  and  collect  fresh,  sweet 
wild-flowers  to  arrange  in  a  vase,  in  place  of  those  defunct  dried 


240  FOR     NICE     OLD     FAR'-      ,  K  3 

grasses,  and  old-maid  "  everlastings."  1  should  like  to  show 
Zedekiah  how  to  nail  together  some  bits  of  board,  for  an  em 
bryo  lounge ;  I  should  like  to  stuff  it  with  cotton,  and  cover  it 
with  a  neat  "  patch."  I  should  like  to  cushion  the  chairs  after 
the  same  fashion.  Then  I  should  like,  when  the  white-haired 
old  farmer  came  panting  up  the  road  at  twelve  o'clock,  with 
his  scythe  hanging  over  his  arm,  to  usher  him  into  that  cool, 
comfortable  room,  set  his  bowl  of  bread  and  milk  before  him, 
and  after  he  had  discussed  it,  coax  him  (instead  of  tilting  back 
on  the  hind  legs  of  a  hard  chair,)  to  take  a  ten-minutes  nap  on 
my  "  model "  sofa,  while  I  kept  my  eye  on  the  clouds,  to  see 
that  no  thunder  shower  played  the  mischief  with  his  hay. 

I  should  like  to  place  a  few  common-sense,  practical  books 
on  the  table,  with  some  of  our  fine  daily  and  weekly  papers. 
You  may  smile ;  but  these  inducements,  and  the  comfortable 
and  pleasant  air  of  the  apartment,  would  bring  the  family  often- 
er  together  after  the  day's  toil,  and  by  degrees  they  would  lift 
the  covers  of  the  books,  and  turn  over  the  newspapers.  Constant 
interchange  of  thought,  feeling  and  opinion,  with  discussions 
of  the  important  and  engrossing  questions  of  the  day,  would 
of  course  necessarily  follow. 

The  village  tavern-keeper  would  probably  frown  upon  it ; 
but  I  will  venture  to  predict  for  the  inmates  of  the  farm-house 
a  growing  love  for  "  home,"  and  an  added  air  of  intelligence 
and  refinement,  of  which  they  themselves  might  possibly  be 
unconscious. 


MADAME    BOUILLON'S    "MOURNING 
SALOON." 

"  You  need  n't  make  that  dress  '  deep  mourning,'  Hetty  ;  the 
lady  who  ordered  it  said  it  was  only  her  sister  for  whom  she 
was  to  '  mourn.'  A  three-quarter's  length  vail  will  answer  ; 
and  I  should  introduce  a  few  jet  bugles  round  the  bonnet  trim 
mings.  And,  by  the  way,  Hetty,  Mrs.  La  Fague's  husband 
has  been  dead  now  nearly  two  months,  so  that  new  dress  of 
hers  will  admit  of  a  little  alleviation  in  the  style  of  trimming  — 
a  few  knots  of  love-ribbon  on  the  boddice  will  have  a  softening 
effect ;  and  you  must  hem  a  thin  net  vail  for  her  bonnet ;  —  it 's 
almost  time  for  her  to  be  '  out  of  mourning.' 

—  "  And,  Hetty,  run  down  to  Stewart's,  right  away,  and  see 
if  he  has  any  more  of  those  grief-bordered  pocket-handkerchiefs. 
Mr.  Grey's  servant  said  the  border  must  be  full  an  inch  deep, 
as  his  master  wished  it  for  his  wife's  funeral,  and  it  is  the 
eighth  time  within  eight  years  that  the  poor  afflicted  man  has 
suffered  a  similar  calamity.  Remember,  Hetty, — •  an  inch  deep, 
with  a  tomb-stone  and  a  weeping- willow  embroidered  on  the 
corner,  with  this  motto  :  '  Hope  never  dies ; ' —  and,  Hetty,  be 
sure  you  ask  him  what  is  the  latest  style  for  '  7ia//^mourning ' 
for  grandmothers,  mothers-in-law,  country  cousins,  and  poor 
16b  K 


242       MADAME  ROUILLON'S  "MOURXIXG  SALOON." 

relations.  Dtpechezvous,  Hetty,  for  you  have  six  '  weepers ' 
(weeds)  to  tike  off  the  six  Mr.  Smiths'  hats.  Yes,  I  know 
you  '  only  put  them  on  last  week  ; '  but  they  are  going  to  Phil 
adelphia,  where  nobody  knows  them,  and,  of  course,  it  is  n't 
necessary  to  '  mourn '  for  their  mother  there. 

— "  What  are  you  staring  at,  child  ]  You  are  as  primitive 
as  your  fore-mother  Eve.  This  '  mourning '  is  probably  an 
invention  of  Satan  to  divert  people's  minds  from  solemn  sub 
jects,  but  that 's  nothing  to  me,  you  know ;  so  long  as  it  fills 
my  pocket,  I  'm  in  league  with  his  Majesty." 


FASHION    IN    FUNERALS. 

"  It  has  become  unfashionable  in  New-York  for  ladies  to  attend  funerals  to  the 
grave.  Even  the  mother  may  not  accompany  Hie  little  lifeless  form  of  her  beloved 
child  beyond  tlte  threshold-  wit/tout  violating  the  dread  laws  of  Fashion" 

ARE  there  such  mothers  ?  Lives  there  one  who,  at  Fash 
ion's  bidding,  stands  back,  nor  presses  her  lips  to  the  little 
marble  form  that  once  lay  warm  and  quivering  beneath  her 
heart-strings  ?  —  who  with  undimmed  eye  recalls  the  trusting 
clasp  of  that  tiny  hand,  the  loving  glance  of  that  vailed  eye,  the 
music  of  that  merry  laugh  —  its  low,  pained  moan,  or  its  last 
fluttering  heart-quiver  1  —  who  would  not  (rather  than  strange 
hands  should  touch  the  babe,)  herself  robe,  its  dainty  limbs  for 
burial  1  —  who  shrinks  not,  starts  not,  when  the  careless, 
business  hand  would  remove  the  little  darling  from  its  cradle- 
bed,  where  loving  eyes  so  oft  have  watched  its  rosy  slumbers, 
to  its  last,  cold,  dreamless  pillow  1  —  who  lingers  not,  when  all 
have  gone,  and  vainly  strives,  with  straining  eye,  to  pierce  below 
that  little  fresh  laid  mound  ?  —  who,  when  a  merry  group  go 
dancing  by,  stops  not,  with  sudden  thrill,  to  touch  some  sunny 
head,  or  gaze  into  some  soft  blue  eye,  that  has  oped  afresh  the 
fount  of  her  tear.-,  and  sent  to  the  troubled  lips  the  murmuring 
heart-plaint,  "  Would  to  God  I  had  died  for  thee,  my  child  — 
my  child  1 "  -  —  who,  when  the  wintry  blast  comes  eddying  by, 


244  FASHION    IN     FUNEKALS. 

sleeps  not,  because  she  cannot  fold  to  her  warm  breast  the  little 
lonely  sleeper  in  the  cold  churchyard  ?  And  oh !  is  there  one, 
who,  with  such  "  treasure  laid  up  in  Heaven,"  clings  not  the 
less  to  earth,  strives  not  the  more  to  keep  her  spirit  imdefiled, 
fears  not  the  less  the  dim,  dark  valley,  cheered  by  a  cherub 
voice,  inaudible  save  to  the  dying  mother  ?  Oh,  stony-eyed, 
stony-hearted,  relentless  Fashion !  turn  for  us  day  into  night, 
if  thou  wilt ;  deform  our  women  ;  half  clothe,  with  flimsy  fab 
ric,  our  victim  children ;  wring  the  last  penny  from  the  sigh 
ing,  overtasked,  toiling  husband ;  banish  to  the  backwoods  thy 
country  cousin,  Comfort ;  reign  supreme  in  the  banquet  hall ; 
revel  undisputed  at  the  dance ;  —  but  when  that  grim  guest, 
whom  none  invite  —  whom  none  dare  deny  —  strides,  with 
defiant  front,  across  our  threshold,  stand  back,  thou  heartless 
harlequin,  and  leave  us  alone  with  our  dead  :  so  shall  we  list 
the  lessons  those  voiceless  lips  should  teach  us  — 
"All  Is  vanity." 


HOUSEHOLD    TYRANTS. 

"  A.  nrsBAND  may  kill  a  wife  gradually,  and  be  no  more  questioned  than  the  grand 
^eignor  who  drowns  a  slave  at  midnight." — Tliackeray,  on  Household  Tyrants. 

On !  Mr.  Thackeray  !  I  ought  to  have  known  from  experi 
ence,  that  beauty  and  brains  never  travel  in  company  —  but  I 
was  disenchanted  when  I  first  saw  your  nose,  and  I  did  say  that 
you  were  too  stout  to  look  intellectual.  But  I  forgive  you  in 
consideration  of  the  above  paragraph,  which,  for  truth  and  can 
dor,  ought  to  be  appended  to  the  four  Gospels. 

I  'm  on  the  marrow  bones  of  my  soul  to  you,  Mr.  Thackeray. 
I  honor  you  for  "  turning  State's  evidence  "  against  your  own 
culprit-sex.  If  there 's  any  little  favor  I  can  do  for  you,  such 
as  getting  you  naturalized,  (for  you  are  a  sight  too  cute  and 
clever  for  an  Englishman,)  I  '11  fly  round  and  get  the  docu 
ments  made  out  for  you  to-morrow. 

I  tell  you,  Mr.  Thackeray,  the  laws  over  here  allow  hus 
bands  to  break  their  wives'  hearts  as  much  as  they  like,  so  long 
as  they  don't  break  their  heads.  So  the  only  way  we  can 
get  along,  is  to  allow  them  to  scratch  our  faces,  and  then  run 
to  the  police  court,  and  shew  "  his  Honor "  that  Mr.  Caudle 
can  "  make  his  mark" 

Why  —  if  we  were  not  cunning,  we  should  get  circum 
vented  all  the  time  by  these  domestic  Napoleons.  Yes,  in- 


246  HOUSEHOLD     TYRANTS. 

deed ;  we  sleep  with  one  eye  open,  and  "  get  up  early  in  th& 
morning,"  and  keep  our  arms  a-kimbo. 

—  By-the-way,  Mr.  Thackeray,  what  do  you  think  of  us,  as 
a  people  ?  —  taking  us  "  by  and  large,"  as  our  honest  farmers 
say.  P-r-e-t-t-y  tall  nation  for  a  growing  one  ;  don't  you  think 
so1?  Smart  men  —  smarter  women  —  good  broad  streets  — 
no  smoking  or  spitting  allowed  in  'em  —  houses  all  built  with 
an  eye  to  architectural  beauty  —  newspapers  don't  tell  how 
many  buttons  you  wear  on  your  waistcoat  —  Jonathan  never 
stares  at  you,  as  if  you  were  an  imported  hyena,  or  stirs  you 
up  with  the  long  pole  of  criticism,  to  see  your  size  and  hear 
your  roar.  Our  politicians  never  whip  each  other  on  the  floor 
of  Congress,  and  grow  black  in  the  face  because  their  choler 
chokes  them !  No  mushroom  aristocracy  over  here  —  no 
"  coats  of  arms "  or  liveried  servants :  nothing  of  that  sham 
sort,  in  our  "  great  and  glorious  country,"  as  you  have  proba 
bly  noticed.  If  you  are  "  round  takin'  notes,"  I  '11  jog  your 
English  elbow  now  and  then.  Ferns  have  eyes — and  they  are 
not  green,  either. 


WOMEN    AND    MONEY. 

"A  wife  shouldn't  ask  her  husband  for  money  at  meal-times." — Exchange. 

BY  no  manner  of  means ;  nor  at  any  other  time ;  because, 
it  is  to  be  hoped,  he  will  be  gentlemanly  enough  to  spare  her 
that  humiliating  necessity.  Let  him.  hand  her  his  porte-mon- 
naie  every  morning,  with  carte-blanche  to  help  herself.  The 
consequence  would  be,  she  would  lose  all  desire  for  the  con 
tents,  and  hand  it  back,  half  the  time  without  abstracting  a  sin 
gle  sou. 

It 's  astonishing  men  have  no  more  diplomacy  about  such 
matters.  /  should  like  to  be  a  husband !  There  are  wives 
whom  I  verily  believe  might  be  trusted  to  make  way  with 
a  ten  dollar  bill  without  risk  to  the  connubial  donor !  I  'm 
not  speaking  of  those  doll-baby  libels  upon  womanhood, 
whose  chief  ambition  is  to  be  walking  advertisements  for 
the  dressmaker ;  but  a  rational,  refined,  sensible  woman, 
who  knows  how  to  look  like  a  lady  upon  small  means ;  who 
would  both  love  and  respect  a  man  less  for  requiring  an  ac 
count  of  every  copper;  but  who,  at  the  same  time,  would 
willingly  wear  a  hat  or  garment  that  is  "  out  of  date,"  rather 
than  involve  a  noble,  generous-hearted  husband  in  unnecessary 
expenditures. 


248  WOMEN     AND     MONEY. 

I  repeat  it  — "  It  is  n't  every  man  who  has  a  call  to  be  a 
husband."  Half  the  married  men  should  have  their  "  licenses  " 
taken  away,  and  the  same  number  of  judicious  bachelors  put 
in  their  places.  I  think  the  attention  of  the  representatives 
should  be  called  to  this.  They  can't  expect  to  come  down  to 
town  and  peep  under  all  the  ladies'  bonnets  the  way  they  do, 
and  have  all  the  newspapers  free  gratis,  and  two  dollars  a  day 
besides,  without  "  paying  their  way  ! 

.It's  none  of  my  business,  but  I  question  whether  their  wives, 
whom  they  left  at  home,  stringing  dried  apples,  know  how 
spruce  they  look  in  their  new  hats  and  coats,  or  how  facetious 
they  grow  with  their  landlady's  daughter ;  or  how  many  of 
them  pass  themselves  off  for  bachelors,  to  verdant  spinsters. 
Nothing  truer  than  that  little  couplet  of  ShaTcspeare's  — 

"When  the  cat's  away 
The  mice  will  play." 


THE    SICK    BACHELOR. 

HERE  I  am,  a  doomed  man  —  booked  for  a  fever,  in  this 
gloomy  room,  up  four  flights  of  stairs ;  nothing  to  look  at  but 
one  table,  two  chairs,  and  a  cobweb  ;  pulse  racing  like  a  loco 
motive  ;  head  throbbing  as  if  it  were  hooped  with  iron  ;  mouth 
as  parched  as  Ishmael's  in  the  desert ;  not  a  bell-rope  within 
reach ;  sun  pouring  in  through  those  uncurtained  windows,  hot 
enough  to  singe  off  my  eye-lashes  ;  all  my  confidential  letters 
lying  loose  on  the  table,  and  I  could  n't  get  up  to  them  if  you 
held  one  of  Colt's  revolvers  to  my  head.  All  my  masculine 
friends  (?)  are  parading  Broadway,  I  suppose ;  peeping  under 
the  pretty  girls'  bonnets,  or  drinking  "  sherry  cobblers."  A 
sherry  cobbler !  Bacchus  !  what  a  luxury  !  I  believe  Satan 
suggested  the  thought  to  me. 

Heigh-ho  !  I  suppose  the  Doctor  (whom  they  have  sent  for) 
will  come  before  long  ;  some  great,  pompous  JEsculapius,  with 
an  owl  phiz,  a  gold-headed  cane,  an  oracular  voice,  and  callous 
heart  and  hands ;  who  will  first  manipulate  my  wrist,  and  then 
take  the  latitude  and  longitude  of  my  tongue ;  then,  he  will 
punch  me  in  my  ribs,  and  torment  me  with  more  questions 
than  there  are  in  the  Assembly's  Catechism  ;  then,  he  '11  bother 
me  for  writing  materials,  to  scratch  off  a  hieroglyphic  humbug 


250  THE     SICK     B  A  <J  II  K  L  O  K  . 

prescription,  ordering  five  times  as  much  medicine  as  I  need ; 
then,  I  shall  have  to  pay  for  it ;  then,  ten  to  one,  the  apothe 
cary's  boy  will  put  up  poison,  by  mistake  !  Ctesar  !  how  my 
head  spins  round  ;  Hippodrome  racing  is  nothing  to  it. 

Hist !  there 's  the  Doctor.  No  !  it  is  that  little  unregener- 
ate  cub,  my  landlady's  pet  boy,  with  a  bran  new  drum  (as  1  'm 
a  sinner),  upon  which  he  is  beating  a  crucifying  tattoo.  If  I 
only  had  a  boot-jack  to  throw  at  him.  No !  that  won't  do  : 
his  mother  would  n't  make  my  gruel.  I  '11  bribe  him  with  a 
sixpence,  to  keep  the  peace.  The  little  embryo  Jew  !  he  says 
he  won't  do  it  under  a  quarter  !  Twitted  by  a  little  pina 
fore  !  /,  Tom  Haliday,  six  feet  in  my  stockings !  I  shall 
go  frantic. 

"  Doctor  is  coming  !  "  Well,  let  him  come.  I  'm  as  savage 
as  if  I  'd  just  dined  off  a  cold  missionary.  I  '11  pretend  to  be 
asleep,  and  let  old  Pill-box  experiment. 

How  gently  he  treads  :  how  soft  his  hand  is :  how  cool  and 
delicious  his  touch  !  How  tenderly  he  parts  my  hair  over  my 
throbbing  temples  !  His  magnetic  touch  thrills  every  drop  of 
blood  in  my  veins  :  it  is  marvellous  how  soothing  it  is.  I  feel 
as  happy  as  a  humming-bird  in  a  lily  cup,  drowsy  with  honey- 
dew.  Now  he 's  moved  away.  I  hear  him  writing  a  prescrip 
tion.  I  '11  just  take  a  peep  and  see  what  he  looks  like.  Qesar 
Aggripina !  if  it  is  n't  a  Female  Physician  !  dainty  as  a  Peri 
—  and  my  beard  three  day  sold!  What  a  bust!  (Wonder 
how  my  hair  looks "?)  What  a  foot  and  ankle  !  AVhat  shoul 
ders;  what  a  little  round  waist.  Fever?  I've  got  twenty 
fevers,  and  the  heartcomplaint  besides.  What  the  mischief 


THE     SICK    BACHELOR.  251 

sent  that  little  witch  here  ?  She  will  either  kill  or  cure  me, 
pretty  quick. 

Wonder  if  she  has  any  more  masculine  patients  1  Wonder 
it'  they  are  handsome  ?  Wonder  if  she  lays  that  little  dimpled 
hand  on  their  foreheads,  as  she  did  on  mine  ?  Now  she  has 
done  writing,  I  '11  shut  my  eyes  and  groan,  and  then,  may  be, 
she  will  pet  me  some  more  ;  bless  her  little  soul ! 

She  says,  "  poor  fellow  !  "  as  she  holds  my  wrist,  "  his  pulse 
is  too  quick."  In  the  name  of  Cupid,  what  does  slje  expect  ? 
She  says,  as  she  pats  my  forehead  with  her  little  plump  fingers, 
"  'Sh — 'sh  !  Keep  cool."  Lava  and  brimstone  !  does  she  take 
me  for  an  iceberg  ] 

Oh,  Cupid  !  of  all  your  devices,  this  feminine  doctoring  for 
a  bachelor,  is  the  ne  plus  ultra  of  witchcraft.  If  I  don't  have 
a  prolonged  "  run  of  fever,"  my  name  is  n't  Tom  Haliday  ! 

She 's  gone !   and  —  I  'm  gone,  too  ! 


A  MOTHER'S    INFLUENCE. 

"  AND  so  you  sail  to-morrow,  Will  1     I  shall  miss  you." 
"  Yes  ;  I  'm  bound  to  see  the  world.     I  've  been  beating  my 
wings  in  desperation  against  the  wires  of  my  cage  these  three 
years.     I  know  every  stick,  and  stone,  and  stump  in  this  odious 
village  by  heart,  as  well  as  I  do  those  stereotyped  sermons  of 
Parson  Grey's.     They  say  he  calls  me  '  a  scapegrace '  —  pity 
I  should  have  the  name  without  the  game,"  said  he,  bitterly. 
"  I  have  n't  room  here  to  run  the  length  of  my  chain.     I  '11  show 
him  what  I  can  do  in  a  wider  field  of  action." 
"  But  how  did  you  bring  your  father  over  ?  " 
"  Oh,  he 's  very  glad  to  be  rid  of  me  ;  quite  disgusted  be 
cause  I  've  no  fancy  for  seeing  corn  and  oats  grow.     The  truth 
is,  every  father  knows  at  once  too  much  and  two  little  about  his 
own  son  ;  the  old  gentleman  never  understood  me ;  he  soured 
my  temper,  which  is  originally  none  of  the  best,  roused  all  the 
worst  feelings  in  my  nature,  and  is  constantly  driving  me  from 
instead  of  to  the  point  he  would  have  me  reach." 
"  And  your  mother  1 " 

"  Well,  there  you  have  me  ;  that 's  the  only  humanized  por 
tion  of  my  heart  —  the  only  soft  spot  in  it.  She  came  to  my 
bed-side  last  night,  after  she  thought  I  was  asleep,  gently  kissed 


A   MOTHER'S   INFLUENCE.  253 

my  forehead,  and  then  knelt  by  my  bed-side.  Harry,  I've 
been  wandering  round  the  fields  all  the  morning,  to  try  to  get 
rid  of  that  prayer.  Old  Parson  Grey  might  preach  at  me  till 
the  millennium,  and  he  would  n't  move  me  any  more  than  that 
stone.  It  makes  all  the  difference  in  the  world  when  you  know 
a  person  feels  what  they  are  praying  about.  I  'm  wild  and 
reckless  and  wicked,  I  suppose ;  but  I  shall  never  be  an  infidel 
while  I  can  remember  my  mother.  You  should  see  the  way 
she  bears  my  father's  impetuous  temper  ;  that's  grace,  not  na 
ture,  Harry  ;  but  don't  let  us  talk  about  it —  I  only  wish  my 
parting  with  her  was  well  over.  Good-bye ;  God  bless  you, 
Harry  ;  you  '11  hear  from  me,  if  the  fishes  don't  make  a  supper 
of  me ; "  and  Will  left  his  friend  and  entered  the  cottage. 

Will's  mother  was  moving  nervously  and  restlessly  about, 
tying  up  all  sorts  of  mysterious  little  parcels  that  only  mothers 
think  of,  "in  case  he  should  be  sick,"  or  in  case  he  should  be  this, 
that,  or  the  other,  interrupted  occasionally  by  exclamations  like 
this  from  the  old  farmer,:  "Fudge — stuff — great  overgrown 
baby  —  making  a  fool  of  him  —  never  be  out  of  leading 
strings  ; "  and  then  turning  short  about  and  facing  Will  a3  he 
entered,  he  said, 

"  Well,  sir,  look  in  your  sea-chest,  and  you  '11  find  ginger 
bread  and  physic,  darning-needles  and  tracts,  '  bitters '  and  Bi 
bles,  peppermint  and  old  linen  rags,  and  opodeldoc.  Pshaw  ! 
I  was  more  of  a  man  than  you  are  when  I  was  nine  years  old. 
Your  mother  always  made  a  fool  of  you,  and  that  was  entirely 
unnecessary,  too,  for  you  were  always  short  of  what  is  called 
Common  sense.  You  need  n't  tell  the  captain  you  went  to  sea 


254.  A   MOTHER'S   INFLUENCE. 

because  you  did  n't  know  enough  to  be  a  landsman ;  or  that 
you  never  did  any  thing  right  in  your  life,  except  by  accident. 
You  are  as  like  that  ne'er  do  well  Jack  Halpine,  as  two  peas. 
If  there  is  anything  in  you,  I  hope  the  salt  water  will  fetch  it 
out.  Come,  your  mother  has  your  supper  ready,  I  see." 

Airs.  Low's  hand  trembled  as  she  passed  her  boy's  cup.  It 
was  his  last  meal  under  that  roof  for  many  a  long  day.  She 
did  not  trust  herself  to  speak  —  her  heart  was  too  full.  She 
heard  all  his  father  so  injudiciously  said  to  him,  and  she  knew 
too  well  from  former  experience  the  effect  it  would  have  upon 
his  impetuous,  fiery  spirit.  She  had  only  to  oppose  to  it  a 
mother's  prayers,  and  tears,  and  all-enduring  love.  She  never 
condemned  in  Will's  hearing,  any  of  his  father's  philippics ; 
always  excusing  him  with  the  general  remark  that  he  did  n't 
understand  him.  Alone,  she  mourned  over  it ;  and  when  with 
her  husband,  tried  to  place  matters  on  a  better  footing  for  both 
parties. 

Will  noted  his  mother's  swollen  eyelids  ;  he  saw  his  favorite 
little  tea-cakes  that  she  had  busied  herself  in  preparing  for  him, 
and  he  ate  and  drank  what  she  gave  him,  without  tasting  a 
morsel  he  swallowed,  listening  for  the  hundredth  time  to  his 
father's  account  of  "  what  he  did  when  he  was  a  young  man." 

"  Just  half  an  hour,  Will,"  said  his  father,  "  before  you  start ; 
run  up  and  see  if  you  have  forgotten  any  of  your  duds." 

It  was  the  little  room  he  had  always  called  his  own.  How 
many  nights  he  had  lain  there  listening  to  the  rain  pattering  on 
the  low  roof;  how  many  mornings  awakened  by  the  chirp  of 
the  robin  in  the  apple-tree  under  the  window.  There  was  the 


A     M  0  T  11  K  R  '  S      i  N  I'  I-  C  K  X  C  E  .  255 

little  bed  with  its  snowy  covering,  and  the  thousand  and  one 
little  comforts  prepared  by  his  mother's  hand.  He  turned  his 
head  —  she  was  at  his  side,  her  arms  about  his  neck.  "  God 
keep  my  boy  !  "  was  all  she  could  utter.  He  knelt  at  her  feet 
as  in  the  days  of  childhood,  and  from  those  wayward  lips  came 
this  tearful  prayer,  "  Oh  God,  spare  my  mother,  that  I  may 
look  upon  her  face  again  in  this  world !  " 

Oh,  in  after  days,  when  that  voice  had  died  out  from  under 
the  parental  roof,  how  sacred  was  that  spot  to  her  who  gave 
him  birth !  There  was  hope  for  the  boy  !  he  had  recogni 
zed  his  mother's  God.  By  that  invisible  silken  cord  she  still 
held  the  wanderer,  though  broad  seas  roll  between. 

Letters  came  to  Moss  Glen  —  at  stated  intervals,  then  more 
irregularly,  picturing  only  the  bright  spots  in  his  sailor  life  (for 
Will  was  proud,  and  they  were  to  be  scanned  by  his  father's 
eye.)  The  usual  temptations  of  a  sailor's  life  when  in  port 
were  not  unknown  to  him.  Of  every  cup  the  syren  Pleasure 
held  to  his  lips,  he  drank  to  the  dregs ;  but  there  were  mo 
ments  in  his  maddest  revels,  when  that  angel  whisper,  "  God 
keep  my  boy,"  palsied  his  daring  hand,  and  arrested  the  half- 
uttered  oath.  Disgusted  with  himself,  he  would  turn  aside  for 
an  instant,  but  only  to  drown  again  more  recklessly  "  that  still 
small  torturing  voice." 


"  You  're  a  stranger  in  these  parts,"  said  a  rough  farmer  to  a 
sun-burnt  traveller.  "  Look  as  though  you  'd  been  in  foreign 
parts." 


256  A   MOTHER'S   INFLUENCE. 

"  Do  I  ?  "  said  Will,  slouching  his  hat  over  his  eyes.  "  Who 
lives  in  that  little  cottage  under  the  hill  1  " 

"  Old  Farmer  Low  —  and  a  tough  customer  he  is,  too ;  it 's 
a  word  and  a  blow  with  him.  The  old  lady  has  had  a  hard 
time  of  it,  good  as  she  is,  to  put  up  with  all  his  kinks  and 
quirks.  She  bore  it  very  well  till  the  lad  went  away  ;  and 
then  she  began  to  droop  like  a  willow  in  a  storm,  and  lose  all 
heart,  like.  Doctor's  stuff  did  n't  do  any  good,  as  long  as  she 
got  no  news  of  the  boy.  She  's  to  be  buried  this  afternoon,  sir." 

Poor  Will  staid  to  hear  no  more,  but  tottered  in  the  direc 
tion  of  the  cottage.  He  asked  no  leave  to  enter,  but  passed 
over  the  threshold  into  the  little  "  best  parlor,"  and  found  him 
self  alone  with  the  dead.  It  was  too  true !  Dumb  were  the  lips 
that  should  have  welcomed  him  ;  and  the  arms  that  should  have 
enfolded  him  were  crossed  peacefully  over  the  heart  that  beat 
true  to  him  till  the  last. 

Conscience  did  its  office.  Long  years  of  mad  folly  passed  in 
swift  review  before  him  ;  and  over  that  insensible  form  a  vow 
was  made,  and  registered  in  Heaven. 


"  Your  mother  should  have  lived  to  see  this  day,  Will,"  said 
a  gray-haired  old  man,  as  he  leaned  on  the  arm  of  the  clergy 
man,  and  passed  into  the  village  church. 

"  Bless  God,  my  dear  father,  there  is  '•joy  in  Heaven  over 
one  sinner  that  repenteth  ; '  and  of  all  the  angel  band,  there  is 
one  seraph  hand  that  sweeps  more  rapturously  its  harp  to-day 
for  '  the  lost  that  is  found.' " 


MR.   PUNCH  MISTAKEN. 

"A  man  will  own  tha*  he  is  in  the  wrong  —  a  woman,  never  ;   she  is  only  mista 
ken."  —  Punch. 

MR.  PUNCH,  did  you  ever  see  an  enraged  American  female  1 
She  is  the  expressed  essence  of  wild-cats.  Perhaps  you  did  n't 
know  it,  when  you  penned  that  incendiary  paragraph  ;  or,  per 
haps  you  thought  that  in  crossing  the  "  big  pond,"  salt  water 
might  neutralize  it  ;  or,  perhaps  you  flattered  yourself  we 
should  not  see  it,  over  here ;  but  here  it  is,  in  my  clutches,  in 
good  strong  English :  I  am  not  even  "  mistaken" 

Now,  if  you  will  bring  me  a  live  specimen  of  the  genus 
homo,  who  was  ever  known  "  to  own  that  he  was  in  the  wrong," 
I  will  draw  in  my  horns  and  claws,  and  sneak  ingloriously 
back  into  my  American  shell.  But  you  can't  do  it,  Mr.  Punch ! 
You  never  saw  that  curiosity,  either  in  John  Bull's  skin  or 
Brother  Jonathan's.  'Tis  an  animal  which  has  never  yet  been 
discovered,  much  less  captured. 

A  man  own  he  was  in  the  wro'ng !  I  guess  so  !  You  might 
tear  him  in  pieces  with,  red-hot  pincers,  and  he  would  keep  on 
singing  out  "  I  did  n't  do  it ;  I  did  n't  do  it."  No,  Mr.  Punch, 
a  man  never  "  owns  up  "  when  he  is  in  the  wrong ;  especially 
if  the  matter  in  question  be  one  which  he  considers  of  no  irn. 
17b 


258  M  H  .     PUNCH     MIS  T  A  K  E  N  . 

portance ;  for  instance,  the  non-delivery  of  a  letter,  which  may 
have  been  entombed  in  his  pocket  for  six  weeks. 

No  sir  ;  he  just  settles  himself  down  behind  his  dickey,  folds 
his  belligerent  hands  across  his  stubborn  diaphragm,  plants  his 
antagonistic  feet  down  on  terra-firma  as  if  there  were  a  stratum 
of  loadstone  beneath  him,  and  thunders  out, 

"  Come  one,  come  all ;    tins  rock  shall  fly 
From  its  firm  base,  as  soon  as  I." 


FERN    MUSINGS. 

I  NEVER  was  on  an  august  school  committee,  but,  if  I  was, 
I  'd  make  a  sine-qua-non  that  no  school-marm  should  be  inaugu 
rated  who  had  not  been  a  married  mother ;  I  do  n't  believe  in 
old  maids ;  they  all  know  very  well  that  they  have  n't  fulfilled 
their  female  destiny,  and  I  would  n't  have  them  wreaking  their 
bilious  vengeance  on  my  urchins,  (if  I  had  any.)  No  woman 
gets  the  acid  effectually  out  of  her  temper,  till  she  has  taken 
matrimony  "  the  natural  way." 

No;  I  don't  believe  in  spinster  educational  teaching  any 
more  than  I  do  in  putting  dried  up  old  bachelors  on  the  school 
committee.  What  bowels  of  mercies  have  either,  I  'd  like  to 
know,  for  the  poor  little  restless  victims  of  narrow  benches  and 
short  recesses  ?  The  children  are  to  "  hold  up  their  hands  "  (are 
they  ?)  if  they  have  a  request  to  make  1  What  good  does  that 
do,  if  the  teacher  won't  take  any  notice  of  the  Free  Mason 
sign  1  "  They  are  not  to  enter  complaints."  So  some  poor 
timid  little  girl  must  be  pinched  black  and  blue  by  a  little  Na 
poleon  in  jacket  and  trowsers,  till  she  is  forced  to  shriek  out 
with  pain,  when  she  is  punished  by  being  kept  half  an  hour  af 
ter  school  for  "  making  a  disturbance  ! "  They  are  "  not  to  eat 
in  school,"  are  they  1  Perhaps  they  have  made  an  indifferent 
breakfast ;  (perhaps  they  are  poor,  and  have  had  none  at  all, 


260  FERN      MUSINGS. 

and  A,  B,  C,  D,  does  n't  digest  well  on  an  empty  stomach ;) 
but  the  spinster  teacher  can  hear  them  recite  with  a  tempting 
bunch  of  grapes  in  her  hand,  which  she  leisurely  devours  be 
fore  their  longing  eyes. 

They  "  must  not  smile  in  school,"  must  they  1  Not  when 
"  Tom  Hood  "  in  a  pinafore,  cuts  up  some  sly  prank  that  brings 
"  down  the  house ;  "  yes  —  and  the  ferule  too,  on  everybody's 
hand  but  his  own ;  (for  he  has  a  way  of  drawing  on  his  "  dea 
con  face,''  to  order.) 

They  may  go  out  in  recess,  but  they  must  speak  in  a  whis 
per  out  doors,  as  if  they  all  had  the  bronchitis !  No  matter  if 
Queen  Victoria  should  ride  by,  no  little  brimless  hat  must  go 
up  in  the  air  till  "  the  committee  had  set  on  it !  " 

Oh  fudge  !  I  should  like  to  keep  school  myself.  I  'd  make 
"  rag  babies "  for  the  little  girls,  and  "  soldier  caps "  for  the 
boys ;  and  I  do  n't  think  I  would  make  a  rule  that  they  should 
not  sneeze  till  school  was  dismissed ;  and  when  their  little  cheeks 
began  to  flush,  and  their  little  heads  droop  wearily  on  their 
plump  shoulders,  I  'd  hop  up  and  play,  "  hunt  the  slipper ;  "  or, 
if  we  were  in  the  country,  we  'd  race  over  the  meadow,  and 
catch  butterflies,  or  frogs,  or  toads,  or  snakes,  or  anything  on 
earth  except  a  "  school  committee." 


THE   TIME  TO   CHOOSE. 

"The  best  time  to  choose  a  wife  is  early  in  tto  morning.  If  a  young  lady  is  at  all 
Inclined  to  sulks  and  slatternness,  it  is  just  before  breakfast.  As  a  general  thing,  a 
woman  don't  get  on  her  temper,  till  after  10  A.  M." — Young  Man's  Ghtide. 

MEN  never  look  slovenly  before  breakfast ;  no,  indeed.  They 
never  run  round  in  their  stocking  feet,  vestless,  with  dressing- 
gown  inside  out ;  soiled  handkerchief  hanging  out  of  the  pocket 
by  one  corner.  Minus  dicky  —  minus  neck-tie ;  pantaloon 
.straps  flying  ;  suspenders  streaming  from  their  waistband  ;  chin 
shaved  on  one  side,  and  lathered  on  the  other ;  hair  like  porcu 
pine  quills ;  face  all  in  a  snarl  of  wrinkles  because  the  fire  wont 
kindle,  and  because  it  snows,  and  because  the  office  boy  do  n't 
come  for  the  keys,  and  because  the  newspaper  has  n't  arrived, 
and  because  they  lost  a  bet  the  night  before,  and  because  there's 
an  omelet  instead  of  a  broiled  chicken,  for  breakfast,  and  be 
cause  they  are  out  of  sorts  and  shaving  soap,  out  of  cigars  and 
credit,  and  because  they  can't  "  get  their  temper  on  "  till  they 
get  some  money  and  a  mint  julep. 

Any  time  "  before  ten  o'clock,"  is  the  time  to  choose  a  hus 
band perhaps  ! 


SPEING    IS    COMING. 

TINY  blades  of  grass  are  struggling  between  the  city's  pave 
ments.  Fathers,  and  husbands,  sighing,  look  at  the  tempting 
shop  windows,  dolefully  counting  the  cost  of  a  "  spring  outfit.'r 
Muffs,  and  boas,  and  tippets,  are  among  the  things  that  were  ; 
and  shawls,  and  "Talmas,"  and  mantles,  and  "little  loves  of 
bonnets"  reign  supreme,  though  maiden  aunts,  and  sage  mam 
mas,  still  mutter  — "  East  winds,  east  winds,"  and  choose  the 
sunnier  sidewalk. 

Housekeepers  are  making  a  horrible  but  necessary  Babel, 
stripping  up  carpets,  and  disembowelling  '>ld  closets,  chests,  and 
cupboards.  Advertisements  already  appear  in  the  newspapers, 
setting  forth  the  superior  advantages  of  this  or  that  dog-day 
retreat.  Mrs.  Jones  drives  Mr.  Jones  distracted,  at  a  regular 
hour  every  evening,  hammering  about  "  change  of  scene,  and 
air,"  and  the  "  health  of  the  dear  children ; ;'  which,  translated, 
means  a  quantity  of  new  bonnets  and  dresses,  and  a  trip  to 
Saratoga,  for  herself  and  intimate  friend,  Miss  Hob-Nob  ;  while 
Jones  takes  his  meals  at  a  restaurant  —  sleeps  in  the  deserted 
house,  sews  on  his  missing  buttons  and  dickey  strings,  and  spends 
his  leisure  time  where  Mrs.  Jones  don't  visit 

Spring  is  coming  ! 

Handsome  carriages  roll  past,  freighted  with  lovely  women, 


SPRING    IS     COMING.  263 

(residents  of  other  cities,  for  an  afternoon  ride.)  Dash  on,  ladies ! 
You  will  scarcely  find  the  environs  of  Boston  surpassed,  where- 
ever  you  may  drive.  A  thousand  pleasant  surprises  await  you ; 
lovely  winding  paths  and  pretty  cottages,  and  more  ambitious 
houses  with  groups  of  statuary  hidden  amid  the  foliage.  But 
forget  not  to  visit  our  sweet  Mount  Auburn.  Hush  the  light 
laugh  and  merry  jest  as  the  gray-haired  porter  throws  wide  the 
gate  for  your  prancing  horses  to  tread  the  hallowed  ground. 
The  dark  old  pines  throw  out  their  protecting  arms  above  you, 
and  in  their  dense  shade  sleep  eyes  as  bright,  forms  as  lovely, 
as  your  own  —  while  "the  mourners  go  about  the  streets." 
Rifle  not,  with  sacrilegious  hand,  the  flowers  which  bloom  at 
the  headstone  —  tread  lightly  over  the  beloved  dust !  Each 
tenanted  grave  entombs  bleeding,  living  hearts ;  each  has  its 
history,  which  eternity  alone  shall  reveal. 

Spring  is  coming  ! 

The  city  belle  looks  fresh  as  a  new-blown  rose  —  tossing  he1 
bright  curls  in  triumph,  at  her  faultless  costume  and  beautiful 
face.  Her  lover's  name  is  Legion  —  for  she  hath  also  golden 
charms  !  Poor  little  butterfly  !  bright,  but  ephemeral !  You 
were  made  for  something  better.  Shake  the  dust  from  your 
earth-stained  wings  and  —  soar  ! 

Spring  is  coming  ! 

From  the  noisome  lanes  and  alleys  of  the  teeming  city, 
swarm  little  children,  creeping  forth  like  insects  to  bask  in  God's 
sunshine — so  free  to  all.  Squalid,  forsaken,  neglected;  they 
arc  yet  of  those  to  whom  the  Sinless  said,  "  Suffer  little  children 
to  come  unto  me."  The  disputed  crust,  th  savage  curse,  the 


264  SPRIXG     IS      COMING. 

brutal  blow,  their  only  patrimony  !  One's  heart  aches  to  call 
THIS  childhood!  No  " spring !"  no  summer,  to  them!  Noi 
some  sights,  noisome  sounds,  noisome  odors !  and  the  leprosy 
of  sin  following  them  like  a  curse !  One  longs  to  fold  to  the 
warm  heart  those  little  forsaken  ones ;  to  smooth  those  matted 
ringlets ;  to  throw  between  them  and  sin  the  shield  of  virtue  — 
to  teach  their  little  lisping  lips  to  say  "  Our  Father  !  " 
Spiring  is  coming  ! 

Yes,  its  blue  skies  are  over  us  —  its  soft  breezes  shall  fan  us  — 
the  fragrance  of  its  myriad  flowers  be  wafted  to  us.  Its  mossy 
carpet  shall  be  spread  for  our  careless  feet  —  our  languid  limbs 
shall  be  laved  at  its  cool  fountains.  Its  luscious  fruits  shall  send 
health  through  our  leaping  veins  —  while  from  mountain  top, 
and  wooded  hill,  and  flower-wreathed  valley,  shall  float  one  glad 
anthem  of  praise  from  tiniest  feathered  throats ! 

Dear  reader!  From  that  human  heart  of  thine  shall  no 
burst  of  grateful  thanks  arise  to  Him  who  givelh  all?  While 
nature  adores  —  shall  man  be  dumb  ?  God  forbid  ! 


STEAMBOAT    SIGHTS    AND    REFLEC 
TIONS. 

I  AM  looking,  from  the  steamer's  deck,  upon  as  fair  a  sunrise 
as  ever  poet  sang  or  painter  sketched,  or  the  earth  ever  saw. 
Oh,  this  broad,  blue,  rushing  river !  sentineled  by  these  grand 
old  hills,  amid  which  the  silvery  mist  wreaths  playfully ;  half 
shrouding  the  little  eyrie  homes,  where  love  wings  the  uncount 
ed  hours  ;  while  looming  up  in  the  hazy  distance,  is  the  Babel 
city,  with  glittering  spires  and  burnished  panes  —  one  vast  illu 
mination.  My  greedy  eye  with  miserly  eagerness  devours  it 
all,  and  hangs  it  up  in  Memory's  cabinet,  a  fadeless  picture ; 
upon  which  dame  Fortune  (the  jilt)  shall  never  have  a  mort 
gage. 

Do  you  see  yonder  figure  leaning  over  the  railing  of  the 
boat,  gazing  on  all  this  outspread  wealth  of  beauty  1  One 
longs  to  hear  his  lips  give  utterance  to  the  burning  thoughts 
which  cause  his  eye  to  kindle  and  his  face  to  glow.  A  wiry- 
sister,  (whose  name  should  be  "  Martha,"  so  careful,  so  troubled 
looks  her  spinstership,)  breaks  the  charmed  spell  by  asking  him, 
in  a  cracked  treble,  "  if  them  porters  on  the  pier  can  be  safely 
trusted  with  her  bandbox  and  umberil."  My  stranger  eyes 
meet  his,  and  we  both  laugh  involuntarily  —  (pardon  us,  oh  ye 
prim  ones)  —  without  an  introduction/ 

T, 


266  STEAMBOAT    SIGHTS    AND    REFLECTIONS. 

Close  at  my  elbow  sits  a  rough  countryman,  with  so  much 
"free  soil "  adhering  to  his  brogans  they  might  have  been  used 
for  beet-beds,  and  a  beard  rivaled  only  by  Nebuchadnezzar's 
when  he  experimented  on  a  grass  diet.  He  has  only  one  word 
to  express  his  overpowering  emotions  at  the  glowing  panorama 
before  us,  and  that  is  "pooty? — houses,  trees,  sky,  rafts,  rail 
road  cars  and  river,  all  are  "pooty  ;  "  and  when,  in  the  fulness 
of  a  soul  craving  sympathy,  he  turned  to  his  dairy -fed  Eve  to 
endorse  it,  that  matter-of-fact  feminine  shower-bath-ed  his  en 
thusiasm,  by  snarling  out  "  pooty  enough,  I  'spose,  but  where  's 
my  breakfast  ?  " 

Ah !  here  we  are  at  the  pier,  at  last.  And  now  they  emerge, 
our  night-travelers,  from  state-room  and  cabin  into  the  fresh 
cool  air  of  the  morning.  Venus  and  Apollo !  what  a .  crew. 
Solemn  as  a  hearse,  surly  as  an  Englishman,  blue  as  an  indigo- 
bag  !  There 's  a  poor  shivering  babe,  twitched  from  a  warm 
bed  by  an  ignorant  young  mother,  to  encounter  the  chill  air  of 
morning,  with  only  a  flimsy  covering  of  lace  and  embroidery  ; 
—  there  's  a  languid  southern  belle,  creeping  out,  d  la  tortoise, 
and  turning  up  her  little  aristocratic  nose  as  if  she  sniffed  a  pes 
tilence  ;  —  there  's  an  Irish  bride  (green  as  Erin)  in  a  pearl-col 
ored  silk  dress  surmounted  by  a  coarse  blanket  shawl ;  — 
there 's  a  locomotive  hour-glass,  (alias  a  dandy,)  a  blue-eyed, 
cravat-choked,  pantaloon  be-striped,  vest-garnished,  disgusting 
"  institution ! "  (give  him  and  his  quizzing  glass  plenty  of  sea- 
room)  ; —  and  there 's  a  clergyman,  God  bless  his  care-worn 
face,  with  a  valise  full  of  salted-down  sermons  and  the  long- 
coveted  "  leave  of  absence ;  "  —  there  's  an  editor,  kicking  a 


STEAMBOAT    SIGHTS    AND    REFLECTIONS.  267 

newsboy  for  bringing  "  coals  to  Newcastle "  in  the  shape  of 
"  extras ;  "  —  and  there  's  a  good-natured,  sunshiny  "  family 
man,"  carrying  the  baby,  and  the  carpet-bag,  and  the  traveling 
shawl,  lest  his  pretty  little  wife  should  get  weary ;  —  and  there  's 
a  poor  bonnetless  emigrant,  stunned  by  the  Babel  sounds,  in 
quiring,  despairingly,  the  name  of  some  person  whom  nobody 
knows  or  cares  for ;  —  and  last,  but  not  least,  there  's  the  wiry 
old  maid  "  Martha,"  asking  "  thim  porters  on  the  pier,"  with 
tears  in  her  faded  green  eyes,  to  be  "  keerful  of  her  bandbox 
and  umberil." 

On  they  go.     Oh,  how  much  of  joy  —  how  much  of  sorrow, 
in  each  heart's  unwritten  history. 


A  GOTHAM    REVERIE. 

Babel,  what  a  place !  —  what  a  dust  —  what  a  racket  — 
what  a  whiz-buzz !  What  a  throng  of  human  beings.  "  Jew 
and  Gentile,  bond  and  free  ; "  every  nation  the  sun  ever  shone 
upon,  here  represented.  What  pampered  luxury — what  squalid 
misery,  on  the  same  pav£.  What  unwritten  histories  these 
myriad  hearts  might  unfold.  How  much  of  joy,  how  much  of 
sorrow,  how  much  of  crime.  Now,  queenly  beauty  sweeps 
past,  in  sin's  gay  livery.  Cursed  he  who  first  sent  her  forth,  to 
walk  the  earth,  with  her  woman's  brow  shame-branded.  Fair 
mother  —  pure  wife  —  frown  scornfully  at  her  if  you  can  ; 
my  heart  aches  for  her.  I  see  one  who  once  slept,  sweet  and 
fair,  on  a  mother's  loving  breast.  I  see  one  whose  bitterest 
tear  may  never  wash  her  stain  away.  I  see  one  on  whom 
mercy's  gate  is  forever  shut,  by  her  own  unrelenting,  unforgiv 
ing  sex.  I  see  one  who  was  young,  beautiful,  poor  and  friend 
less.  They  who  make  long  prayers,  and  wrap  themselves  up 
in  self-righteousness,  as  with  a  garment,  turned  a  deaf  ear,  as 
she  plead  for  the  bread  of  honest  toil.  Earth  looked  cold,  and 
dark,  and  dreary ;  feeble  feet  stumbled  wearily  on  life's  rug 
ged,  thorny  road.  Oh,  judge  her  not  harshly,  pure  but  frigid 
censor ;  who  shall  say  that  with  her  desolation  —  her  tempta 
tion — your  name  too  might  not  have  been  written  "  [Magdalen." 


SICKNESS    COMES    TO    YOU    IN    THE 
CITY. 

How  unmercifully  the  heavy  cart  wheels  rattle  over  the 
stony  pavements ;  how  unceasing  the  tramp  of  busy,  restless 
feet ;  how  loud  and  shrill  the  cries  of  mirth  and  traffic.  You 
turn  heavily  to  your  heated  pillow,  murmuring,  "  Would  God 
it  were  night !  "  The  pulse  of  the  great  city  is  stilled  at  last ; 
and  balmy  sleep,  so  coveted,  seems  about  to  bless  you  —  when 
hark !  a  watchman's  rattle  is  sprung  beneath  your  window, 
evoking  a  score  of  stentorian  voices,  followed  by  a  clanging  bell, 
and  a  rushing  engine,  announcing  a  conflagration.  Again  you 
turn  to  your  sleepless  pillow  ;  your  quivering  nerves  and  throb 
bing  temples  sending  to  your  pale  lips  this  prayer,  "  Would  to 
God  it  were  morning  ! " 

Death  comes,  and  releases  you.  You  are  scarcely  missed. 
Your  next-door  neighbor,  who  has  lived  within  three  feet  of 
you  for  three  years,  may  possibly  recollect  having  seen  the 
doctor's  chaise  before  your  door,  for  some  weeks  past ;  then, 
that  the  front  blinds  were  closed ;  then,  that  a  coffin  was  car 
ried  in  ;  and  he  remarks  to  his  wife,  as  he  takes  up  tin-  evening 
paper,  over  a  comfortable  dish  of  tea,  that  "he  shouldn't  won 
der  if  neighbor  Grey  were  dead,"  and  then  they  read  your 


270  SICKNESS    IX     THE     C  O  U  N  T  It  Y  . 

name  and  age  in  the  bill  of  mortality,  and  wonder  "  what  dis 
ease  you  died  of;  "  and  then  the  servant  removes  the  tea-tray, 
and  they  play  a  game  of  whist,  and  never  think  of  you  again, 
till  they  see  the  auctioneer's  flag  floating  before  your  door. 

The  house  is  sold ;  and  your  neighbor  sees  your  widow  and 
little  ones  pass  out  over  the  threshold  in  tears  and  sables  (grim 
poverty  keeping  them  silent  company) ;  but  what  of  that  1 
The  world  is  full  of  widows  and  orphans ;  one  can't  always  be 
thinking  of  a  charnel-house ;  and  so  he  returns  to  his  stocks  and 
dividends,  and  counting-room,  and  ledger,  in  a  philosophical 
state  of  serenity. 

Some  time  after,  he  is  walking  with  a  friend ;  and  meets  a 
lady  in  rusty  mourning,  carrying  a  huge  bundle,  from  which 
"  slop  workd"  is  seen  protruding,  (a  little  child  accompanies  her, 
with  its  feet  out  at  the  toes.)  She  has  a  look  of  hopeless  mis 
ery  on  her  fine  but  sad  features.  She  is  a  lady  still  (spite  of 
her  dilapidated  wardrobe  and  her  bundle.)  Your  neighbor's 
companion  touches  his  arm,  and  says,  "  Good  God  !  is  n't  that 
Grey's  widow  1 "  He  glances  at  her  carelessly,  and  answers, 
"  Should  n't  wonder ; "  and  invites  him  home  to  dine  on  trout, 
cooked  in  claret,  and  hot-house  peaches,  at  half  a  dollar  a-piece. 


SICKNESS    COMES   TO    YOU   IN   THE    COUNTET. 

ON  the  fragrant  breeze,  through  your  latticed  window,  come 
the  twitter  of  the  happy  swallow,  the  chirp  of  the  robin,  and 


SICKNESS      IN      THE      COUNTRY.  271 

the  drowsy  hum  of  the  bee.  From  your  pillow  you  can  watch 
the  shadows  come  and  go,  over  the  clover  meadow,  as  the  clouds 
go  drifting  by.  Rustic  neighbors  lean  on  their  spades  at  sunset 
at  your  door,  and  with  sympathising  voices  "  hope  you  are  bet 
ter."  The  impatient  hoof  of  the  prancing  horse  is  checked  by 
the  hand  of  pity ;  and  the  merry  shout  of  the  sunburnt  child 
(musical  tnough  ifc  be,)  dies  on  the  cherry  lip,  at  the  uplifted 
finger  of  compassion.  A  shower  of  rose-leaves  drifts  in  over 
your  pillow,  on  the  soft  sunset  zephyr.  Oh,  earth  is  passing 
fair ;  but  Heaven  is  fairer  ! 

Its  portals  unclose  to  you !  Kind,  neighborly  hands  wipe  the 
death-damp  from  your  brow ;  speak  words  of  comfort  to  your 
weeping  wife,  caress  your  unconscious  children.  Your  fading 
eye  takes  it  all  in,  but  your  tongue  is  powerless  to  speak  its 
thanks.  They  close  your  drooping  lids,  they  straighten  your 
manly  limbs,  they  lay  your  weary  head  on  its  grassy  pillow, 
they  bedew  it  with  sympathetic  tears ;  they  pray  God,  that 
night,  in  their  cottage  homes,  to  send  His  kind  angel  down,  to 
whisper  words  of  peace  to  the  broken  hearts  you  have  left  bo- 
hind. 

They  do  something  besides  pray.  From  unknown  hands,  the 
widow's  "  cruse  of  oil,"  and  "  barrel  of  meal,"  are  oft  replen 
ished.  On  your  little  orphans'  heads,  many  a  rough  palm  is 
laid,  with  tearful  blessing.  Many  a  dainty  peach,  or  pear,  or 
apple  is  tossed  them,  on  their  way  to  school.  Many  a  ride  they 
get  "  to  mill,"  or  "  hay-field,"  or  "  village,"  while  their  mother 
shades  her  moistened  eyes  in  the  door-way,  quite  unable  to 
speak.  The  old  farmer  sees  it ;  and  knowing  better  how  to  be- 


272  SICKNESS     IN     THE     COUNTRY. 

stow  a  kindness  than  to  bear  such  expressive  thanks,  cuts  Dob 
bin  in  the  flanks,  then  starting  tragically  at  the  premeditated  rear, 
asks  her,  with  an  hysterical  laugh,  "  if  she  ever  saw  such  an 
uneasy  beast !  " 

Wide  open  fly  their  cottage  doors  and  hearts,  at  "  Christmas  " 
and  "  Thanksgiving,"  for  your  stricken  household.  There  may 
be  little  city  etiquette  at  the  feast,  there  may  be  ungrammatical 
words  and  infelicitous  expressions, —  but,  thank  God,  unchilled 
by  selfishness,  unshrivelled  by  avarice,  human  hearts  throb 
warmly  there  —  loving — pitiful —  Christ-like! 


HUN  Gil  Y    HUSBANDS. 

"The  band  that  can  make  a  pie  is  a  continual  feast  to  the  husband  that  marries 
its  owner." 

WELL,  it  is  a  humiliating  reflection,  that  the  straightest  road 
to  a  man's  heart  is  through  his  palate.  He  is  never  so  amiable 
as  when  he  has  discussed  a  roast  turkey.  Then 's  your  time, 
'*  Esther,"  for  "  half  his  kingdom,"  in  the  shape  of  a  new  bonnet, 
cap,  shawl,  or  dress.  He  's  too  complacent  to  dispute  the  mat 
ter.  Strike  while  the  iron  is  hot ;  petition  for  a  trip  to  Niagara, 
Saratoga,  the  Mammoth  Cave,  the  White  Mountains,  or  to 
London,  Rome,  or  Paris.  Should  he  demur  about  it,  the  next 
day  cook  him  another  turkey,  and  pack  your  trunk  while  he  is 
eating  it. 

There  's  nothing  on  earth  so  savage  —  except  a  bear  robbed 
of  her  cubs  —  as  a  hungry  husband.  It  is  as  ^uch  as  your 
life  is  worth  to  sneeze,  till  dinner  is  on  the  table,  and  his  knife 
and  fork  are  in  vigorous  play.  Tommy  will  get  his  ears  boxed, 
the  ottoman  will  be  kicked  into  the  corner,  your  work-box  be 
turned  bottom  upwards,  and  the  poker  and  tongs  will  beat  a 
tattoo  on  that  grate  that  will  be  a  caution  to  dilatory  cooks. 

After  the  first  six  mouthfuls  you  may  venture  to  say  your 
*>Aul  is  vour  own ;  his  eyes  will  lose  their  ferocity,  his  brow  its 
18b 


274  HUNGRY     HUSBANDS. 

furrows,  and  he  will  very  likely  recollect  to  help  you  to  a  cold 
potato  !  Never  mind  —  eat  it.  You  might  have  to  swallow 
a  worse  pill  —  for  instance,  should  he  offer  to  kiss  you  ! 

Well,  leani  a  lesson  from  it  —  keep  him  well  fed  and  lan 
guid  — live  yourself  on  a  low  diet,  and  cultivate  your  thinking 
powers ;  and  you  '11  be  as  spry  as  a  cricket,  and  hop  over  all 
the  objections  and  remonstances  that  his  dead-and-alive  energies 
can  muster.  Yes,  feed  him  well,  and  he  will  stay  contentedly 
hi  his  cage,  like  a  gorged  anaconda.  If  he  were  my  husband, 
would  n't  I  make  him  heaps  ofpison  things  !  Bless  me  !  I've 
made  a  mistake  in  the  spelling  ;  it  should  have  been  pies  and 
things  ! 


LIGHT    AND    SHADOW; 

OR,    WHO    IS    RESPONSIBLE? 

IT  was  a  simple  dress  of  snowy  muslin,  innocent  of  the  magic 
touch  of  a  French  modiste.  There  was  not  an  inch  of  lace  upon 
it,  nor  a  rosette,  nor  a  flower ;  it  was  pure,  and  simple,and  un 
pretending  as  its  destined  wearer.  A  pair  of  white  kid  gloves, 
of  fairy-like  proportions,  lay  beside  it,  also  a  tiny  pair  of  satin 
slippers.  There  was  no  bridal  trousseau  ;  no  —  Meta  had  no 
rich  uncles,  or  aunts,  or  cousins,  —  no  consistent  god-parents 
who,  promising  at  her  baptism  that  she  should  "  renounce  the 
pomp  and  vanities  of  the  world,"  redeemed  their  promise  bj 
showering  at  her  bridal  feet,  diamonds  enough  to  brighten 
many  a  starving  fellow-creature's  pathway  to  the  tomb. 

Did  I  say  there  was  no  bridal  trousseau  ?  There  was  one 
gift,  a  little  clasp  Bible,  with  "Meta  Grey  "  written  on  the  fly 
leaf,  in  the  bridegroom's  bold,  handsome  hand.  Perchance 
some  gay  beauty,  who  reads  this,  may  curl  her  rosy  lip  scorn 
fully  ;  but  well  Meta  knew  how  to  value  such  a  gift.  Through 
long  dreary  years  of  orphanage  "  God's  Word  "  had  been  to 
her  what  the  star  in  the  East  was  to  Bethlehem's  watching 
shepherds.  Her  lonely  days  of  toil  were  over  now.  There 
was  a  true  heart,  whose  every  pulsation  was  love  for  her  —  a 
brave  arm  to  defend  her  helplessness,  and  a  quiet,  sunny  home 


276  LIGHT      AND      SHADOW. 

where  Peace,  like  a  brooding  dove,  should  fold  his  wings,  while 
the  happy  hours  flew  uncounted  by. 

Yes ;  Meta  was  looked  for,  every  hour.  She  was  to  leave 
the  group  of  laughing  hoidens,  (before  whom  she  had  forbid 
den  her  lover  to  claim  her,)  and  thereafter  confine  her  teachings 
to  one  pupil,  whose  "  reward  of  merit "  should  be  the  love-light 
in  her  soft,  dark  eyes.  Still,  it  was  weary  waiting  for  her ;  her 
last  letter  was  taken,  for  the  hundredth  time,  from  its  hiding- 
place,  and  read  and  refolded,  and  read  again,  although  he  could 
say  it  all,  with  his  eyes  shut,  in  the  darkest  corner  in  Christen 
dom.  But  you  know  all  about  it,  dear  reader,  if  you  own  a 
heart,  and  if  you  don't,  the  sooner  you  drop  my  story  the 
better. 

Well ;  he  paced  the  room  up  and  down,  looked  out  the  win. 
dow,  and  down  the  street :  then  he  sat  down  in  the  little  rock 
ing-chair  he  had  provided  for  her,  and  tried  to  imagine  it  was 
tenanted  by  two  ;  then,  delicious  tears  sprang  to  his  eyes,  that 
such  a  sweet  fount  of  happiness  was  opened  to  him  —  that  the 
golden  morn,  and  busy  noon,  and  hushed  and  starry  night, 
should  find  them  ever  side  by  side.  Care  ?  —  he  did  n't  know 
it !  Trouble  ?  —  what  trouble  could  he  have,  when  all  his  heart 
craved  on  earth  was  bounded  by  his  clasping  arms  1  And  then, 
Meta  was  an  orphan  —  he  was  scarcely  sorry  —  there  would 
be  none  for  her  heart  to  go  out  to  now  but  himself;  he  must 
be  brother,  sister,  father,  mother — all  to  her ;  and  his  heart  gave 
a  full  and  joyful  response  to  each  and  every  claim. 

— But  what  a  little  loiterer  !  He  was  half  vexed ;  he  paced 
the  room  in  his  imoatience,  handled  the  little  slippers  affection- 


LIGHT      AND      SHADOW.  277 

ately,  and  caressed  the  little  gloves  as  if  they  were  filled  by  the 
plump  hand  of  Meta,  instead  of  his  imagination.  Why  did  n't 
she  fly  to  him  1  Such  an  angel  should  have  wings  —  he  was 
sure  of  that. 

—  Wings  1     God  help  you,  widowed  bridegroom  !     Who 

shall  have  the  heart  to  read  you  this  sad  paragraph  ? 

' 
"ONE  OF  THE  NORWALK  VICTIMS. —  The  body  of  a  young 

lady,  endowed  with  extraordinary  personal  beauty,  remains  yet 
unrecognized.  On  her  countenance  reposes  an  expression  of 
pleasure,  in  striking  and  painful  contrast  to  the  terrible  scene 
amid  which  she  breathed  her  last.  She  was  evidently  about 
twenty  years  old,  doubtless  the  glory  of  some  circle  of  admir 
ing  friends,  who  little  dream  where  she  is,  and  of  her  shocking 
condition." 


A  MATRIMONIAL  REVERIE. 

"  THE  love  of  a  spirited  woman  is  better  worth  having  than  that  of  any  other  fe 
male  individual  vou  can  start." 

% 

I  WISH  I  had  known  that  before !  I  'd  have  plucked  up  a 
little  spirit,  and  not  gone  trembling  through  creation,  like  a 
plucked  chicken,  afraid  of  every  animal  I  ran  a-foivl  of.  I  have 
not  dared  to  say  my  soul  was  my  own  since  the  day  I  was 
married,  and  every  time  Mr.  Jones  comes  into  the  entry  and 
sets  down  that  great  cane  of  his,  with  a  thump,  you  might  hear 
my  teeth  chatter,  down  cellar  !  I  always  keep  one  eye  on  him, 
in  company,  to  see  if  I  am  saying  the  right  thing;  and  the  mid 
dle  of  a  sentence  is  the  place  for  me  to  stop,  (I  can  tell  you,)  if 
his  black  eyes  snap  !  It 's  so  aggravating  to  find  out  my  mis 
take  at  this  time  o'  day.  I  ought  to  have  carried  a  stiff  upper  lip, 
long  ago.  Wonder  if  little  women  can  look  dignified  ?  Wonder 
how  it  would  do  to  turn  straight  about  now  1  I  '11  try  it. ! 

Harry  will  come  home  presently  and  thunder  out,  as  usual, 
"Mary,  why  the  deuce  is  n't  dinner  ready?  "  I  '11  just  set  my 
teeth  together,  put  my  arms  akimbo,  and  look  him  right  straight 

oh,  mercy  !  I  can't !  I  should  dissolve  !  Bless  your 

soul,  he 's  a  six-footer;  such  whiskers  —  none  of  your  sham 
settlements !  Such  eyes !  and  such  a  nice  mouth.  Come  to 
think  of  it,  I  really  believe  I  love  him  !  Guess  I  '11  go  along 
the  old  way ! 


WHAT    LOVE    WILL    ACCOMPLISH. 

"  THIS  will  never  do,"  said  little  Mrs.  Kitty  ;  "  how  I  came  to 
be  such  a  simpleton  as  to  get  married  before  I  knew  how  to 
keep  house,  is  more  and  more  of  an  astonisher  to  me.  I  can 
learn,  and  I  will!  There's  Bridget  told  me  yesterday  there 
was  n't  time  to  make  a  pudding  before  dinner.  I  had  my  pri 
vate  suspicions  she  was  imposing  upon  me,  though  I  didn't 
know  enough  about  it  to  contradict  her.  The  truth  is,  I  'm  no 
more  mistress  of  this  house  than  I  am  of  the  Grand  Seraglio. 
Bridget  knows  it,  too  ;  and,  there 's  Harry  (how  hot  it  makes 
my  cheeks  to  think  of  it !)  could  n't  find  an  eatable  thing  on 
the  dinner  table  yesterday.  He  loves  me  too  well  to  say  any 
thing,  but  he  had  such  an  ugly  frown  on  his  face  when  he  lit  his 
cigar  and  went  off  to  his  office.  Oh,  I  see  how  it  is : 


" '  One  must  eat  in  matrimony, 

And  love  is  neither  bread  nor  honey, 
And  so.  vou  understand.1  " 


And  so,  you  understand. 


"  What  on  earth  sent  yon  over  here  in  this  dismal  rain  1 " 

said  Kitty's  neighbor,  Mrs.  Green.     "  Just  look  at  your  gaiters." 

"  Oh,  never  mind  gaiters,"  said  Kitty,  untying  her  "  rigo- 


280  WUAT     LOVE     AY  ILL     ACCOMPLISH. 

lette,"  and  throwing  herself  on  the  sofa.  "  I  don't  know  any 
more  about  cooking  than  a  six-weeks'  kitten ;  Bridget  walks 
over  my  head  with  the  most  perfect  Irish  nonchalance  ;  Harry 
looks  as  solemn  as  an  ordained  bishop  ;  the  days  grow  short, 
the  bills  grow  long,  and  I  'm  the  most  miserable  little  Kitty 
that  ever  mewed.  Do  have  pity  on  me,  and  initiate  me  into 
the  mysteries  of  broiling,  baking,  and  roasting ;  take  me  into 
your  kitchen  now,  and  let  me  go  into  it  while  the  fit  is  on  me. 
I  feel  as  if  I  could  roast  Chanticleer  and  all  his  hen-harem  !  " 

"  You  don't  expect  to  take  your  degree  in  one  forenoon  ?  " 
said  Mrs.  Green,  laughing  immoderately. 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it !  I  intend  to  come  every  morning,  if  the 
earth  don't  whirl  off  its  axle.  I've  locked  up  my  guitar  and 
my  French  and  Italian  books,  and  that  irresistible  '  Festus,'  and 
nerved  myself  like  a  female  martyr,  to  look  a  gridiron  in  the 
face  without  flinching.  Come,  put  down  that  embroidery, 
there 's  a  good  Samaritan,  and  descend  with  me  into  the  lower 
regions,  before  my  enthusiasm  gets  a  shower-bath,"  and  she 
rolled  up  her  sleeves  from  her  round  white  arms,  took  off  her 
rings,  and  tucked  her  curls  behind  her  ears. 

Very  patiently  did  Mrs.  Kitty  keep  her  resolution ;  each 
day  added  a  little  to  her  store  of  culinary  wisdom.  What  if 
she  did  flavor  her  first  custards  with  peppermint  instead  of 
lemon  ?  What  if  she  did  "  baste  "  a  turkey  with  saleratus  instead 
of  salt  ?  What  if  she  did  season  the  stuffing  with  ground  cinna 
mon  instead  of  pepper  1  Rome  was  n't  built  in  a  day ;  —  cooks 
can't  be  manufactured  in  a  minute. 


WHAT     LOVE     WILL     ACCOMPLISH.  281 

Kitty's  husband  had  been  gone  just  a  month.  He  was  ex 
pected  home  that  very  day.  All  the  morning  the  little  wife 
had  been  getting  up  a  congratulatory  dinner,  in  honor  of  the 
occasion.  What  with  satifaction  and  the  kitchen  fire,  her 
cheeks  glowed  like  a  milkmaid's.  How  her  eyes  sparkled,  and 
what  a  pretty  little  triumphant  toss  she  gave  her  head,  when 
that  big  trunk  was  dumped  down  in  the  entry  !  It  is  n't  a  bad 
thing,  sometimes,  to  have  a  secret  even  from  one's  own  hus 
band. 

"  On  my  word,  Kitty,"  said  Harry,  holding  her  off  at  arm's 
length,  "  you  look  most  provokingly  '  well-to-do '  for  a  widow 
'pro  tern.'  I  don't  believe  you  have  mourned  for  me  the 
breath  of  a  sigh.  What  have  you  been  about  1  who  has  been 
here  ?  and  what  mine  of  fun  is  to  be  prophesied  from  the  mer 
ry  twinkle  in  the  corner  of  your  eye  ?  Anybody  hid  in  the 
closet  or  cupboard  1  Have  you  drawn  a  prize  in  the  lottery  1 " 

"  Not  since  I  married  you,"  said  Mrs.  Kitty  ;  "  and  you  are 
quite  welcome  to  that  sugar-plum  to  sweeten  your  dinner." 

"  How  Bridget  has  improved,"  said  Harry,  as  he  plied  his 
knife  and  fork  industriously ;  "  I  never  saw  these  woodcock 

outdone,  even  at  our  bachelor  club-rooms  at House. 

She  shall  have  a  present  of  a  pewter  cross,  as  sure  as  her  name 
is  McFlanigan,  besides  absolution  for  all  the  detestable  messes 
she  used  to  concoct  with  her  Catholic  fingers." 

"  Let  me  out !  let  me  out ! "  said  a  stifled  voice  from  the 
closet ;  "  you  can't  expect  a  woman  to  keep  a  secret  forever." 

"  What  on  earth  do  you  mean,  Mrs.  Green  1 "  said  Harry, 
gaily  shaking  her  hand. 


282  WHAT     LOVE    WILL    ACCOMPLISH. 

"  Why,  you  see,  '  Bridget  has  improved  ; '  i.  e.  to  say,  little 
Mrs.  Kitty  there  received  from  my  hands  yesterday  a  diploma, 
certifying  her  Mistress  of  Arts,  Hearts  and  Drumsticks,  having 
spent  every  morning  of  your  absence  in  perfecting  herself  as  a 
housekeeper.  There  now,  don't  drop  on  your  knees  to  her  till 
I  have  gone.  I  know  very  well  when  three  is  a  crowd,  or,  to 
speak  more  fashionably,  when  I  am  '  de  tropj  and  I  'm  only 
going  to  stop  long  enough  to  remind  you  that  there  are  some 
wives  left  in  the  world,  and  that  Kitty  is  one  of  'em." 

And  now,  dear  reader,  if  you  doubt  whether  Mrs.  Kitty  was 
rewarded  for  all  her  trouble,  you  'd  better  take  a  peep  into  that 
parlor,  and  while  you  are  looking,  let  me  whisper  a  secret  in 
your  ear  confidentially.  You  may  be  as  beautiful  as  Venus, 
and  as  talented  as  Madame  de  Stael,  but  you  never  '11  reign 
supreme  in  your  liege  lord's  affections,  till  you  can  roast  a 
turkey. 


MRS.   GRUMBLE'S    SOLILOQUY. 

"  THERE  's  no  calculating  the  difference  between  men  and 
women  boarders.  Here 's  Mr.  Jones,  been  in  my  house  these 
six  months,  and  no  more  trouble  to  me  than  my  gray  kitten. 
If  his  bed  is  shook  up  once  a  week,  and  his  coats,  cravats,  love- 
letters,  cigars  and  patent-leather  boots  left  undisturbed  in  the 
middle  of  the  floor,  he  is  as  contented  as  a  pedagogue  in  vaca 
tion  time. 

"  Take  a  woman  to  board,  and  (if  it  is  perfectly  convenient) 
she  would  like  drapery  instead  of  drop-curtains  ;  she  'd  like  the 
windows  altered  to  open  at  the  top,  and  a  wardrobe  for  her 
flounced  dresses,  and  a  few  more  nails  and  another  shelf  in  her 
closet,  and  a  cricket  to  put  her  feet  on,  and  a  little  rocking- 
chair,  and  a  big  looking-glass,  and  a  pea-green  shade  for  her 
gas-burner. 

"  She  would  like  breakfast  about  ten  minutes  later  than  your 
usual  hour  ;  tea  ten  minutes  earlier,  and  the  gong,  which  shocks 
her  nerves  so,  altogether  dispensed  with. 

"  She  can't  drink  coffee,  because  it  is  exhilarating ;  broma  is 
too  insipid,  and  chocolate  too  heavy.  She  don't  fancy  cocoa. 
'English  breakfast  tea'  is  the  only  beverage  which  agrees  with 
her  delicate  spinster  organization. 


284  MRS.   GRUMBLE'S   SOLILOQUY. 

"  She  can't  digest  a  roast  or  a  fried  dish  ;  she  might  possibly 
peck  at  an  egg,  if  it  were  boiled  with  one  eye  on  the  watch. 
Pastry  she  never  eats,  unless  she  knows  from  what  dairy  the 
butter  came,  which  enters  into  its  composition.  Every  article 
of  food  prepared  with  butter,  salt,  pepper,  mustard,  vinegar  or 
oil ;  or  bread  that  is  made  with  yeast,  soda,  milk  or  saleratus, 
she  decidedly  rejects. 

"  She  is  constantly  washing  out  little  duds  of  laces,  collars, 
handkerchiefs,  chemisettes  and  stockings,  which  she  festoons  up 
to  the  front  windows,  to  dry ;  giving  passers-by  the  impression 
that  your  house  is  occupied  by  a  blanchesseuse  ;  — then  jerks 
the  bell-wire  for  an  hour  or  more,  for  relays  of  hot  smoothing 
irons,  to  put  the  finishing  stroke  to  her  operations. 

"  She  is  often  afflicted  with  interesting  little  colds  and  influ 
enzas,  requiring  the  immediate  consolation  of  a  dose  of  hot  lem 
onade  or  ginger  tea ;  choosing  her  time  for  these  complaints 
when  the  kitchen  fire  has  gone  out  and  the  servants  are  on  a 
furlough.  Oh !  nobody  knows,  but  those  who  've  tried,  how 
immensely  troublesome  women  are  !  I  'd  rather  have  a  whole 
regiment  of  men  boarders.  All  you  have  to  do  is,  to  wind 
them  up  in  the  morning  with  a  powerful  cup  of  coffee,  give 
them  carte-blanche  to  smoke,  and  a  night-key,  and  your  work 
is  done." 


HENRY    WARD    BEECHER. 

WHAT  a  warm  Sunday !  and  what  a  large  church  !  I  won 
der  if  it  will  bo  half-filled !  Empty  pews  are  a  sorry  welcome 
to  a  pastor.  Ah  !  no  fear  ;  here  comes  the  congregation  in 
troops  and  families ;  now  the  capacious  galleries  are  filled  ; 
every  pew  is  crowded,  and  seats  are  being  placed  in  the  aisles. 

The  preacher  rises.  What  a  young  "  David ! "  Still,  the 
"  stone  and  sling  "  will  do  their  execution.  How  simple,  how 
child-like  that  prayer ;  and  yet  how  eloquent,  how  fervent. 
How  eagerly,  as  he  names  the  text,  the  eye  of  each  is  riveted 
upon  the  preacher,  as  if  to  secure  his  individual  portion  of  the 
heavenly  manna. 

Let  us  look  around,  upon  the  audience.  Do  you  see  yonder 
gray-haired  business  man  ?  Six  days  in  the  week,  for  many 
years,  he  has  been  Mammon's  most  devoted  worshipper.  Ac 
cording  to  time-honored  custom,  he  has  slept  comfortably  in 
his  own  pew  each  Sunday,  lulled  by  the  soft  voice  of  the  shep 
herd  who  "  prophesieth  smooth  things."  One  pleasant  Sab 
bath,  chance,  (I  would  rather  say  an  overruling  Providence,) 
led  him  here.  He  settles  himself  in  his  accustomed  Sunday 
attitude,  but  sleep  comes  not  at  his  bidding.  He  looks  dis 
turbed.  The  preacher  is  dwelling  upon  the  permitted  but 


286  HENRY    WARD     BEE  U  HER. 

fraudulent  tricks  of  business  men,  and  exposing  plainly  their 
turpitude  in  the  sight  of  that  God  who  holds  "  evenly  the  scales 
of  justice."  As  he  proceeds,  Conscience  whispers  to  this  aged 
listener,  "  Thou  art  the  man !"  He  moves  uneasily  on  his 
seat ;  an  angry  flush  mounts  to  his  temples  :  What  right  has 
that  boy-preacher  to  question  the  integrity  of  men  of  such  un 
blemished  mercantile  standing  in  the  community  as  himself  ? 
He  is  not  accustomed  to  such  a  spiritual  probing  knife.  His 
spiritual  physician  has  always  "  healed  the  hurt  of  his  people 
slightly."  He  don't  like  such  plain  talking,  and  sits  the  ser 
vice  out  only  from  compulsion.  But  when  he  passes  the 
church  porch,  he  does  not  leave  the  sermon  there,  as  usual. 
No.  He  goes  home  perplexed  and  thoughtful.  Conscience 
sides  with  the  preacher ;  self-interest  tries  to  stifle  its  voice 
with  the  sneering  whisper  of  "  priest-craft."  Monday  comes, 
and  again  he  plunges  into  the  maelstrom  of  business,  and  tries 
to  tell  the  permitted  lie  with  his  usual  nonchalance  to  some  ig 
norant  customer,  but  his  tongue  falters  and  performs  its  duty 
but  awkwardly  ;  a  slight  blush  is  perceptible  upon  his  counte 
nance  ;  and  the  remainder  of  the  week  chronicles  similar  and 
repeated  failures. 

Again  it  is  Sunday.  He  is  not  a  church-member :  he  can 
stay  at  home,  therefore,  without  fear  of  a  canonical  commit 
tee  of  Paul  Prys  to  investigate  the  matter  :  he  can  look  over 
his  debt  and  credit  list  if  he  likes,  without  excommunication  : 
he  certainly  wilt  not  put  himself  again  in  the  way  of  that 
plain-spoken,  stripling  priest.  The  bell  peals  out,  in  musical 
tones,  seemingly  this  summons :  "  Come  up  with  us,  and  we 


HENRY     WARD     BEEOHER.  287 

will  do  you  good."  By  an  irresistible  impulse,  he  finds  him 
self  again  a  listener.  "  Not  that  he  believes  what  that  boy 
says  :  "  Oh  no  :  but,  somehow,  he  likes  to  listen  to  him,  even 
though  he  attack  that  impregnable  pride  in  which  he  has 
wrapped  himself  up  as  in  a  garment. 

Now,  why  is  this  1  Why  is  this  church  filled  with  such 
wayside  listeners? 

Why,  but  that  all  men  —  even  the  most  worldly  and  un 
scrupulous —  pay  involuntary  homage  to  earnestness,  sincerity, 
independence  and  Christian  boldness,  in  the  "  man  of  God  1 " 

Why "?  Because  they  see  that  he  stands  in  that  sacred  desk, 
not  that  his  lips  may  be  tamed  and  held  in,  with  a  silver  bit 
and  silken  bridle :  not  because  preaching  is  his  "  trade,"  and 
his  hearers  must  receive  their  quid  pro  quo  once  a  week  —  no, 
they  all  see  and  feel  that  his  heart  is  in  the  work  —  that  he 
loves  it  —  that  he  comes  to  them  fresh  from  his  closet,  his  face 
shining  with  the  light  of  "  the  Mount,"  as  did  Moses'. 

The  preacher  is  remarkable  for  fertility  of  imagination,  for 
rare  felicity  of  expression,  for  his  keen  perception  of  the  com 
plicated  and  mysterious  workings  of  the  human  heart,  and  for 
the  uncompromising  boldness  with  which  he  utters  his  convic 
tions.  His  earnestness  of  manner,  vehemence  of  gesture  and 
rapidity  of  utterance,  are,  at  times,  electrifying ;  impressing 
his  hearers  with  the  idea  that  language  is  too  poor  and  mea 
ger  a  medium  for  the  rushing  tide  of  his  thoughts. 

Upon  the  lavish  beauty  of  earth,  sea,  and  sky,  he  has  evi 
dently  gazed  with  the  poet's  eye*  of  rapture.  He  walks  the 
green  earth  in  no  monk's  cowl  or  cassock.  The  tiniest  blade 


288  HENRY     WARD     BEECHEK. 

of  grass  with  its  "  drap  o'  dew,"  has  thrilled  him  with  strange 
delight.  "  God  is  love,"  is  written  for  him  in  brilliant  letters, 
on  the  arch  of  the  rainbow.  Beneath  that  black  coat,  his  heart 
leaps  like  a  happy  child's  to  the  song  of  the  birds  and  the  trip 
ping  of  the  silver-footed  stream,  and  goes  up,  in  the  dim  old 
woods,  with  the  fragrance  of  their  myriad  flowers,  in  grateful 
incense  of  praise,  to  Heaven. 

God  be  thanked,  that  upon  all  these  rich  and  rare  natural 
gifts,  "  Holiness  to  the  Lord  "  has  been  written.  Would  that 
the  number  of  such  gospel  soldiers  was  "  legion,"  and  that 
they  might  stand  in  the  forefront  of  the  hottest  battle,  wield 
ing  thus  skillfully  and  unflinchingly  the  "  Sword  of  the  Spirit/' 


AN    OLD    MAID'S    DECISION. 

••  I  can  bear  misfortune  and  poverty,  and  all  the  other  ills  of  life,  but  to  bo  an  old 
maid — to  droop  and  wither,  and  wilt  and  die,  like  a  single  pink — I  can't  endure  it; 
and  what '«  more,  I  won't  I " 

Now  there  's  an  appeal  that  ought  to  touch  some  bachelor's 
heart.  There  she  is,  a  poor,  lone  spinster,  in  a  nicely  fur 
nished  room  —  sofa  big  enough  for  two  ;  two  arm  chairs,  two 
bureaus,  two  looking-glasses — everything  hunting  in  couples 
except  herself!  I  don't  wonder  she 's  frantic !  She  read 
in  her  childhood  that  "  matches  were  made  in  Heaven,"  and 
although  she 's  well  aware  there  are  some  Lucifer  matches, 
yet  she  has  never  had  a  chance  to  try  either  sort.  She  has 
heard  that  there  "  never  was  a  soul  created,  but  its  twin  was 
made  somewhere,"  and  she  's  a  melancholy  proof  that  't  is  a 
mocking  lie.  She  gets  tired  sewing —  she  can't  knit  forever 
on  that  eternal  stocking — (besides,  that  has  a  fellow  to  it, 
and  is  only  an  aggravation  to  her  feelings.)  She  has  read 
till  her  eyes  are  half  blind, —  there  's  nobody  to  agree  with 
her  if  she  likes  the  book,  or  argue  the  point  with  her  if 
.she  don't.  If  she  goes  out  to  walk,  every  woman  she  meets 
has  her  husband's  arm.  To  be  sure,  they  are  half  of  them 
ready  to  scratch  each  other's  eyes  out ;  but  that 's  a  little 
business  matter  between  themselves.  Suppose  she  feels  devo- 
19b  M 


290  AN     OLD     MAID'S    DECISION. 

tional,  and  goes  to  evening  lectures,  some  ruffianly  coward  is 
sure  to  scare  her  to  death  on  the  way.  If  she  takes  a  journey, 
she  gets  hustled  and  boxed  round  among  cab-drivers,  and  por 
ters,  and  baggage-masters ;  her  bandbox  gets  knocked  in,  her 
trunk  gets  knocked  off,  and  she  's  landed  at  the  wrong  stop 
ping  place.  If  she  wants  a  load  of  wood,  she  has  to  pay  twice 
as  much  as  a  man  would,  and  then  she  gets  cheated  by  the 
man  that  saws  and  splits  it.  She  has  to  put  her  own  money 
into  the  bank  and  get  it  out,  hire  her  own  pew,  and  wait  upon 
herself  into  it.  People  tell  her  "  husbands  are  often  great 
plagues,"  but  she  knows  there  are  times  when  they  are  indis 
pensable.  She  is  very  good  looking,  black  hair  and  eyes,  fine 
figure,  sings  and  plays  beautifully,  but  she  "  can't  be  an  old 
maid,  and  icliat  's  more —  SHE  WON'T." 


A  PUNCH  AT  "PUNCH." 

"  What  is  the  height  of  a  woman's  ambition  ?    Diamonds."  — [Punch, 

SAGACIOCS  Punch  !  Do  you  know  the  reason  ?  It  5s  be 
cause  the  more  "  diamonds"  a  woman  owns,  the  more  precious 
she  becomes  in  the  eyes  of  your  discriminating  sex.  What 
pair  of  male  eyes  ever  saw  a  "  crow's  foot,"  grey  hair,  or  wrinkle, 
in  company  with  a  genuine  diamond?  Don't  you  go  down  on 
your  marrow-bones,  and  vow  that  the  owner  is  a  Venus,  a 
Hebe,  a  Juno,  a  sylph,  a  fairy,  an  angel  1  Would  you  stop  to 
look  (connubially")  at  the  most  bewitching  woman  on  earth, 
whose  only  diamonds  were  "in  her  eye?"  Well,  it  is  no 
great  marvel,  Mr.  Punch.  The  race  of  men  is  about  extinct. 
Now  and  then  you  will  meet  with  a  specimen  ;  but  I  'm  sorry 
to  inform  you  that  the  most  of  them  are  nothing  but  coat  tails, 
walking  behind  a  moustache,  destitute  of  sufficient  energy  to 
earn  their  own  cigars  and  "Macassar,"  preferring  to  dangle  at 
the  heels  of  a  diamond  wife,  and  meekly  receive  their  allow 
ance,  as  her  mamma's  prudence  and  her  own  inclinations  may 
suggest. 


FATHER  TAYLOE,  THE   SAILOR'S 
PREACHER. 

You  have  never  heard  FATHER  TAYLOR,  the  Boston  Sea 
man's  preacher  1  Well  —  you  should  go  down  to  his  church 
some  Sunday.  It  is  not  at  the  court-end  of  the  town.  The 
urchins  in  the  neighborhood  are  guiltless  of  shoes  or  bonnets. 
You  will  see  quite  a  sprinkling  of  "  Police  "  at  the  corners. 
Green  Erin,  too,  is  well  represented :  with  a  dash  of  Africa  — 
checked  off  with  "  dough  faces." 

Let"  us  go  into  the  church :  there  are  no  stained-glass  win 
dows  —  no  richly  draperied  pulpit  —  no  luxurious  seats  to  sug 
gest  a  nap  to  your  sleepy  conscience.  No  odor  of  patchouli, 
or  nonpareil,  or  bouqet  de  violet  will  be  wafted  across  your  pa 
trician  nose.  Your  satin  and  broadcloth  will  fail  to  procure  you 
the  highest  seat  in  the  synagogue, —  they  being  properly  re 
served  for  the  "  old  salts." 

Here  they  come !  one  after  another,  with  horny  palms  and 
bronzed  faces.  It  stirs  my  blood,  like  the  sound  of  a  trum 
pet,  to  see  them.  The  seas  they  have  crossed !  the  surging 
billows  they  have  breasted  !  the  lonely,  dismal,  weary  nights 
they  have  kept  watch  !  —  the  harpies  .in  port  who  have  assailed 


FATHER     T  A  Y  L  U  K  .  293 

their  generous  sympathies !  the  sullen  plash  of  the  sheeted 
dead,  in  its  vast  ocean  sepulchre !  —  what  stirring  thoughts  and 
emotions  do  their  weather-beaten  faces  call  into  play !  God 
bless  the  sailor !  —  Here  they  come  ;  sure  of  a  welcome  — 
conscious  that  they  are  no  intruders  on  aristocratic  landsmen's 
soil  —  sure  that  each  added  face  will  send  a  thrill  of  pleasure 
to  the  heart  of  the  good  old  man,  who  folds  them  all,  as  one 
family,  to  his  patriarchal  bosom. 

There  he  is !  How  reverently  he  drops  on  his  knee,  and  ut 
ters  that  silent  prayer.  Now  he  is  on  his  feet.  With  a  quick 
motion  he  adjusts  his  spectacles,  and  says  to  the  tardy  tar 
doubtful  of  a  berth,  "  Room  here,  brother  !  "  pointing  to  a  seat 
in  the  pulpit.  Jack  don  't  know  about  that!  He  can  climb 
the  rigging  when  Boreas  whistles  his  fiercest  blast;  he  can 
swing  into  the  long  boat  with  a  stout  heart,  when  creaking  tim 
bers  are  parting  beneath  him :  but  to  mount  the  pulpit !  — 
Jack  doubts  his  qualifications,  and  blushes  through  his  mask  of 
bronze.  "  Room  enough,  brother  !  "  again  reassures  him  ;  and, 
with  a  litle  extra  fumbling  at  his  tarpaulin,  and  hitching  at  his 
waistband,  he  is  soon  as  much  at  home  as  though  he  were  on 
his  vessel's  deck. 

The  hymn  is  read  with  a  heart-tone.  There  is  no  mistaking 
either  the  poet's  meaning  or  the  reader's  devotion.  And  now, 
if  you  have  a  "  scientific  musical  ear,"  (which,  thank  heaven,  1 
have  not,)  you  may  criticise  the  singing,  while  I  am  not  ashamed 
of  the  tears  that  steal  down  my  face,  as  I  mark  the  effect  of 
good  Old  Hundred  (minus  trills  and  flourishes)  on  Neptune's 
honest,  hearty,  whole-souled  sons. 


294  FATHER     TAYLOR. 

— The  text  is  announced.  There  follows  no  arrangement  of 
dickys,  or  bracelets,  or  eye-glasses.  You  forget  your  ledger 
and  the  fashions,  the  last  prima  donna,  and  that  your  neigh 
bor  is  not  one  of  the  "  upper  ten,"  as  you  fix  your  eye  on 
that  good  old  man,  and  are  swept  away  from  worldly  moor 
ings  by  the  flowing  tide  of  his  simple,  earnest  eloquence.  You 
marvel  that  these  uttered  truths  of  his,  never  struck  your 
thoughtless  mind  before.  My  pen  fails  to  convey  to  you  the 
play  of  expression  on  that  earnest  face  —  those  emphatic  ges 
tures  —  the  starting  tear  or  the  thrilling  voice ;  —  but  they  all 
tell  on  "  Jack." 

And  now  an  infant  is  presented  for  baptism.  The  pastor 
takes  it  on  one  arm.  O,  surely  he  is  himself  a  father,  else  it 
would  not  be  poised  so  gently.  Now  he  holds  it  up,  that  all 
may  view  its  dimpled  beauty,  and  says  :  "  Is  there  one  here 
who  doubts,  should  this  child  die  to-day,  its  right  among  the 
blessed  1 "  One  murmured,  spontaneous  No  !  bursts  from 
Jacks'  lips,  as  the  baptismal  drops  lave  its  sinless  temples. 
Lovingly  the  little  lamb  is  folded,  with  a  kiss  and  a  blessing, 
to  the  heart  of  the  earthly  shepherd,  ere  the  maternal  arms 
receive  it. 

Jack  looks  on  and  weeps !  And  how  can  he  help  weeping  1 
He  was  once  as  pure  as  that  blessed  innocent !  His  mother — 
the  sod  now  covers  her  —  often  invoked  heaven's  blessing  on 
her  son ;  and  well  he  remembers  the  touch  of  her  gentle  hand 
and  the  sound  of  her  loving  voice,  as  she  murmured  the  implo 
ring  prayer  for  him  :  and  how  has  her  sailor  boy  redeemed  his 
youthful  promise  1  He  dashes  away  his  scalding  tears,  with 


FATHER     TAYLOR.  295 

his  horny  palm  ;  but,  please  God,  that  Sabbath  —  that  scene  — 
shall  be  a  talisman  upon  which  memory  shall  ineffaceably  in 
scribe, 

"  Go,  and  sin  no  more." 


SIGNS   OF  THE  TIMES. 

E-Q-U-I  —  equi,  D-O-M-E — dome,  "Equidome."  Betty,  hand 
me  my  dictionary. 

Well,  now,  who  would  have  believed  that  I,  Fanny  Fern, 
would  have  tripped  over  a  "  stable  1 "  That  all  comes  of  being 
"  raised  "  where  people  persist  in  calling  things  by  their  right 
names.  I  'm  very  certain  that  it  is  useless  for  me  to  try  to 
circumnavigate  the  globe  on  stilts.  There  's  the  "  Hippodrome ! " 
I  had  but  just  digested  that  humbug :  my  tongue  kinked  all  up 
trying  to  pronounce  it ;  and  then  I  could  n't  find  out  the  mean 
ing  of  it ;  for  Webster  did  n't  inform  me  that  it  was  a  place 
where  vicious  horses  broke  the  necks  of  vicious  young  girls  for 
the  amusement  of  vicious  spectators. 

—  "  Jim  Brown  !  "  What  a  relief.  I  can  understand  that. 
I  never  saw  Jim,  but  I  'm  positively  certain  that  he  's  a  mono 
syllable  on  legs  —  crisp  as  a  cucumber.  Ah !  here  are  some 
more  suggestive  signs. 

"  Robert  Link  —  Bird  Fancier."  I  suggest  that  it  be  changed 
to  Bob-o'  Link  ;  in  which  opinion  I  shall  probably  be  backed 
up  by  all  musical  people. 

Here  we  are  in  Broadway  junior,  alias  the  "  Bowery."  I 
don't  see  but  the  silks,  and  satins,  and  dry  goods  generally,  are 


SIGNS     OF     THE     TIMES.  297 

quite  equal  to  those  in  Broadway ;  but,  of   course,  Fashion 
turns  her  back  upon  them,  for  they  are  only  half  the  price. 

What  have  we  here,  in  this  shop  window  1  What  are  all 
those  silks,  and  delaines,  and  calicoes,  ticketed  up  that  way  for  ? 
—"Superb,"  "Tasty,"  "Beautiful,"  "  Desirable,"  "  Cheap  for 
1*.,"  "  Modest,"  "  Unique,"  "  Genteel,"  "  Grand,"  "  Gay  !"  It 
is  very  evident  that  Mr.  Yardstick  takes  all  women  for  fools, . 
or  else  he  has  had  a  narrow  escape  from  being  one  himself. 

There 's  a  poor,  distracted  gentleman  in  a  milliner's  shop, 
trying  to  select  a  bonnet  for  Ms  spouse.  What  a  non  compos  i 
See  him  poise  the  airy  nothings  on  his  great  clumsy  hands ! 
He  is  about  as  good  a  judge  of  bonnets  as  I  am  of  patent 
ploughs.  See  him  turn,  in  despairing  bewilderment,  from  blue 
to  pink,  from  pink  to  green,  from  green  to  crimson,  from  crim 
son  to  yellow.  The  little  witch  of  a  milliner  sees  his  indecis 
ion,  and  resolves  to  make  a  coup  d'etat ;  so,  perching  one  of 
the  bonnets  (blue  as  her  eyes)  on  her  rosy  little  face,  she  walks 
up  sufficiently  near  to  give  him  a  magnetic  shiver,  and  holding 
the  strings  coquettishly  under  her  pretty  little  chin,  says : 

"  Now,  I  'm  sure,  you  can't  say  that  is  n't  pretty  ! " 

Of  course  he  can't ! 

So,  the  bonnet  is  bought  and  band-boxed,  and  Jonathan  (who 
is  sold  with  the  bonnet)  takes  it  home  to  his  wife,  whose  black 
face  looks  in  it  like  an  overcharged  thunder-cloud  set  in  a  sil 
ver  lining. 

Saturday  evening  is  a  busy  time  in  the  Bowery.  So  many 
little  things  wanted  at  the  close  of  the  week.  A  pair  of  new 
shoes  for  Robert,  a  tippet  for  Sally,  a  pair  of  gloves  for  Johnny, 


298  SIGNS      OF     THE     TIMES. 

and  a  stick  of  candy  to  bribe  the  baby  to  keep  the  peace  while 
mamma  goes  to  "  meetin  "  on  Sunday.  What  a  heap  of  peo 
ple  !  What  a  job  it  must  be  to  take  the  census  in  New  York. 
Servant  girls  and  their  beaux,  country  folks  and  city  folks,  big 
boys  and  little  boys,  ladies  and  women,  puppies  and  men ! 
There  's  a  poor  laboring  man  with  his  market  basket  on  one 
arm,  and  his  wife  on  the  other.  He  knows  that  he  can  get  his 
Sunday  dinner  cheaper  by  purchasing  it  late  on  Saturday  night, 
when  the  butchers  are  not  quite  sure  that  their  stock  will 
"  keep  "  till  Monday.  And  then  it  is  quite  a  treat  for  his  wife, 
when  little  Johnny  is  asleep,  to  get  out  to  catch  a  bit  of  fresh 
aii*,  and  a  sight  of  the  pretty  things  in  the  shop  windows,  even 
if  she  cannot  have  them ;  but  the  little  feminine  diplomat 
ist  knows  that  husbands  always  feel  clever  of  a  Saturday 
night,  and  that  then 's  the  time  "just  to  stop  and  look  "  at  a 
new  ribbon  or  collar. 

See  that  party  of  country  folks,  going  to  the  "  National "  to 
see  "  Uncle  Tom."  Those  pests,  the  bouquet  sellers,  are  offer 
ing  them  their  stereotyped,  cabbage-looking  bunches  of  flowers 
with, 

"  Please  buy  one  for  your  lady,  sir." 

Jonathan  don't  understand  dodging  such  appeals ;  beside,  he 
would  scorn  to  begrudge  a  "  quarter  "  for  his  lady  !  So  he 
buys  the  nuisance,  and  scraping  out  his  hind  foot,  presents  it, 
with  a  bow,  to  Araminta,  who  "  walks  on  thrones"  the  remain 
der  of  the  evening. 

There  's  a  hand  organ,  and  a  poor,  tired  little  girl,  sleepily 
playing  the  tambourine.  All  the  little  ragged  urchins  in  the 


SIGNS     OF     THE     TIMES.  299 

neighborhood  are  grouped  on  that  door  step,  listening.  The 
connoisseur  might  criticise  the  performance,  but  no  Cathedral 
Te  Deum  could  be  grander  to  that  unsophisticated  little  au 
dience.  There  is  one  little  girl,  who  spite  of  her  rags,  is  beau 
tiful  enough  for  a  seraph.  Poor  and  beautiful!  God  help 
her. 


WHOM   DOES   IT  CONCERN? 

"STITCH — stitch — stitch!  Will  this  never  end?"  said  a 
young  girl,  leaning  her  head  wearily  against  the  casement,  and 
dropping  her  small  hands  hopelessly  in  her  lap.  "Stitch — 
stitch — stitch!  from  dawn  till  dark,  and  yet  I  scarce  keep  soul 
and  body  together;"  and  she  drew  her  thin  shawl  more  closely 
over  her  shivering  shoulders. 

Her  eye  fell  upon  the  great  house  opposite.  There  was  com 
fort  there,  and  luxury,  too ;  for  the  rich,  satin  curtains  were 
looped  gracefully  away  from  the  large  windows  ;  a  black  ser 
vant  opens  the  hall  door  :  see,  there  are  statues  and  vases  and 
pictures  there  :  now,  two  young  girls  trip  lightly  out  upon  the 
pavement,  their  lustrous  silks,  and  nodding  plumes,  and  jew 
eled  bracelets  glistening,  and  quivering,  and  sparkling  in  the 
bright  sunlight.  Now  poising  their  silver-netted  purses  upon 
tlirir  daintily  irloyn.l  fiiig..-7-s.  they  leap  lightly  into  thr  carriage 
in  waiting,  and  are  whirled  rapidly  away. 

That  little  seamstress  is  as  fair  as  they  :  her  eyes  are  as  soft 
and  blue ;  her  limbs  as  lithe  and  graceful ;  her  rich,  brown 
hair  folds  as  softly  away  over  as  fair  a  brow  ;  her  heart  leaps, 
like  theirs,  to  all  that  is  bright  and  joyous  ;  it  craves  love  and 
sympathy,  and  companionship  as  much,  and  yet  she  must  stitch 


"Tut,  tut,  young  woman!  don't  quarrel  with  your  bread  and  "butter Y1 


WHOM     DOES     IT     CONCERN  301 

— stitch — stitch — and  droop  under  summer's  heat,  and  shiver 
under  winter's  cold,  and  walk  the  earth  with  the  skeleton  star 
vation  ever  at  her  side,  that  costly  pictures,  and  velvet  carpets, 
and  massive  chandeliers,  and  gay  tapestry,  and  gold  and  silver 
vessels  may  fill  the  house  of  her  employer — that  his  flaunting 
equipage  may  roll  admired  along  the  highway,  and  India's  fair 
est  fabrics  deck  his  purse-proud  wife  and  daughters. 


It  was  a  busy  scene,  the  ware-room  of  Simon  Skinflint  & 
Co.  Garments  of  every  hue,  size  and  pattern,  were  there  ex 
posed  for  sale.  Piles  of  coarse  clothing  lay  upon  the  counter, 
ready  to  be  given  out  to  the  destitute,  brow-beaten  applicant 
who  would  make  them  for  the  smallest  possible  remuneration  ; 
piles  of  garments  lay  there,  which  such  victims  had  already 
toiled  into  the  long  night  to  finish,  ticketed  to  bring  enormous 
profits  into  the  pocket  of  their  employer :  groups  of  dapper 
clerks  stood  behind  the  counter,  discussing,  in  a  whisper,  the 
pedestals  of  the  last  new  danseuse — ogling  the  half-starved 
young  girls  who  were  crowding  in  for  employment,  and  raising 
a  blush  on  the  cheek  of  humble  innocence  by  the  coarse  joke 
and  free,  libidinous  gaze ;  while  their  master,  Mr.  Simon  Skin 
flint,  sat,  rosy  and  rotund,  before  a  bright  Lehigh  fire,  rubbing 
his  fat  hands,  building  imaginary  houses,  and  felicitating  him 
self  generally,  on  his  far-reaching  financial  foresight. 


302  WHOMDOES     IT     CONCERN. 

"  If  you  could  but  allow  me  a  trifle  more  for  my  labor," 
murmured  a  low  voice  at  his  side ;  "  I  have  toiled  hard  all  the 
week,  and  yet — " 

"  Young  woman,"  said  Mr.  Skinflint,  pushing  his  chair  seve 
ral  feet  back,  elevating  his  spectacles  to  his  forehead,  and  draw 
ing  his  satin  vest  down  over  his  aldermanic  proportions — 
"young  woman,  do  you  observe  that  crowd  of  persons  be 
sieging  my  door  for  employment?  Perhaps  you  are  not  aware 
that  we  turn  away  scores  of  them  every  day ;  perhaps  you 
do  n't  know  that  the  farmers'  daughters,  who  are  at  a  loss  what 
to  do  long  winter  evenings,  and  want  to  earn  a  little  dowry, 
will  do  our  work  for  less  than  we  pay  you  1  But  you  femi 
nine  operatives  do  n't  seem  to  have  the  least  idea  of  trade. 
Competition  is  the  soul  of  business,  you  see,"  said  Mr.  Skin 
flint,  rubbing  his  hands  in  a  congratulatory  manner.  "  Tut  — 
tut  —  young  woman  !  do  n't  quarrel  with  your  bread  and  but 
ter  ;  however,  it  is  a  thing  that  do  n't  concern  me  at  all ;  if  you 
won't  work,  there  are  plenty  who  will" — and  Mr.  Skinflint 
drew  out  his  gold  repeater,  and  glanced  at  the  door. 

A  look  of  hopeless  misery  settled  over  the  young  girl's 
face,  as  she  turned  slowly  away  in  the  direction  of  home. 
Home  did  I  say  ?  The  word  was  a  bitter  mockery  to  poor 
Mary.  She  had  a  home  once,  where  she  and  the  little  birds 
sang  the  live-long  day  :  where  flowers  blossomed,  and  tall  trees 
waved,  and  merry  voices  floated  out  on  the  fragrant  air,  and 
the  golden  sun  went  gorgeously  down  behind  the  far-off  hills ; 
where  a  mother's  loviMg  breast  was  her  pillow,  and  a  father's 
good-night  blessing  wooed  her  rosy  slumbers.  It  was  past 


WHOM     DOES     IT     CONCERN.  303 

now.  They  were  all  gone — father,  mother,  brother,  sister. 
Some  with  the  blue  sea  for  a  shifting  monument ;  some  sleep 
ing  dreamlessly  in  the  little  church-yard,  where  her  infant  foot 
steps  strayed.  Rank  grass  had  o'ergrown  the  cottage  gravel 
walks ;  weeds  choked  the  flowers  which  dust-crumbled  hands 
had  planted ;  the  brown  moss  had  thatched  over  the  cottage 
eaves,  and  still  the  little  birds  sang  on  as  blithely  as  if  Mary's 
household  gods  had  not  been  shivered. 

Poor  Mary  !  The  world  was  dark  and  weary  to  her :  the 
very  stars,  with  their  serene  beauty,  seemed  to  mock  her  mis 
ery.  She  reached  her  little  room.  Its  narrow  walls  seemed 
to  close  about  her  like  a  tomb.  She  leaned  her  head  wearily 
against  the  little  window,  and  looked  again  at  the  great  house 
opposite.  How  brightly,  how  cheerfully  the  lights  glanced 
from  the  windows !  How  like  fairies  glided  the  young  girls 
over  the  softly  carpeted  floors !  How  swiftly  the  carriages 
whirled  to  the  door,  with  their  gay  visitors  ?  Life  was  such  a 
rosy  dream  to  them — such  a  brooding  nightmare  to  her! 
Despair  laid  its  icy  hand  on  her  heart.  Must  she  always 
drink,  unmixed,  the  cup  of  sorrow  ?  Must  she  weep  and  sigh 
her  youth  away,  while  griping  Avarice  trampled  on  her  heart- 
strings?  She  could  not  weep — nay,  worse — she  could  not 
pray.  Dark  shadows  came  between  her  soul  and  heaven. 


The  little  room  is  empty  now.  Mary  toils  there  no  longer. 
You  will  find  her  in  the  great  house  opposite :  her  dainty  limbs 
olad  in  flowing  silk ;  her  slender  fingers  and  dimpled  arms  glit- 


304  WHOM     DOES     IT     CONCERN. 

tering  with  gems :  and  among  all  that  merry  group,  Mary's 
laugh  rings  out  the  merriest.     Surely — surely,  this  is  better 
than  to  toil,  weeping,  through  the  long  weary  days  in  the  little 
darkened  room. 
Is  it,  Mary  1 


There  is  a  ring  at  the  door  of  the  great  house.  A  woman 
glides  modestly  in ;  by  her  dress,  she  is  a  widow.  She  has 
opened  a  small  school  in  the  neighborhood,  and  in  the  search 
for  scholars  has  wandered  in  here.  She  looks  about  her.  Her 
quick,  womanly  instinct  sounds  the  alarm.  She  is  not  among 
the  good  and  pure  of  her  sex.  But  she  does  not  sconi  them. 
No ;  she  looks  upon  their  blighted  beauty,  with  a  Christ-like 
pity ;  she  says  to  herself,  haply  some  word  of  mine  may  touch 
their  hearts.  So,  she  says,  gently,  "  Pardon  me,  ladies,  but  I 
had  hoped  to  find  scholars  here ;  you  will  forgive  the  intrusion, 
I  know ;  for  though  you  are  not  mothers,  you  have  all  had 
mothers." 

Why  is  Mary's  lip  so  ashen  white  1  Why  does  she  tremble 
from  head  to  foot,  as  if  smitten  by  the  hand  of  God  1  Why 
do  the  hot  tears  stream  through  her  jeweled  fingers  1  Ah ! 
Mary.  That  little  dark  room,  with,  its  toil,  its  gloom,  its  in 
nocence,  were  Heaven's  own  brightness  now,  to  your  tortured 
spirit. 


Pitilessly  the  slant  rain  rattled  against  the  window  panes 
awnings  creaked  and  flapped,  and  the  street  lamps  flickered  in 


WHOM     DOES     IT     CONCERN.  305 

the  strong  blast :  full-freighted  omnibuses  rolled  over  the  mud 
dy  pavements :  stray  pedestrians  turned  up  their  coat-collars, 
grasped  their  umbrellas  more  tightly,  and  made  for  the  nearest 
port.  A  woman,  half-blinded  by  the  long  hair  which  the  fury 
of  the  wind  had  driven  across  her  face,  drenched  to  the  skin 
with  the  pouring  rain  —  shoeless,  bonnetless,  homeless,  leans 
unsteadily  against  a  lamp-post,  and  in  the  maudlin  accents  of 
intoxication  curses  the  passers-by.  A  policeman's  strong  grasp 
is  laid  upon  her  arm,  and  she  is  hurried,  struggling,  through  the 
dripping  streets,  and  pushed  into  the  nearest  "  station  house." 
Morning  dawns  upon  the  wretched,  forsaken  outcast.  She  sees 
it  not.  Upon  those  weary  eyes  only  the  resurrection  morn 
shall  dawn. 

No  more  shall  the  stony-hearted  shut,  in  her  imploring  face, 
the  door  of  hope ;  no  more  shall  gilded  sin,  with  Judas  smile, 
say,  "  Eat,  drink,  and  be  merry ;  "  no  more  shall  the  professed 
followers  of  Him  who  said,  "  Neither  do  I  condemn  thee,"  say  to 
the  guilt-stricken  one,  "  Stand  aside  —  for  I  am  holier  than 
thou."  No,  none  may  tempt,  none  may  scorn,  none  may  taunt 
her  more.  A  pauper's  grave  shall  hide  poor  Mary  and  her 
shame. 

God  speed  the  day  when  the  Juggernaut  wheels  of  Avarice 
shall  no  longer  roll  over  woman's  dearest  hopes ;  when  thou 
sands  of  doors,  now  closed,  shall  be  opened  for  starving  Virtue 
to  earn  her  honest  bread  ;  when  he  who  would  coin  her  tears 
and  groans  to  rear  his  palaces,  shall  become  a  hissing  and 
a  by-word,  wherever  the  sacred  name  of  Mother  shall  be 
honored. 

20b 


"WHO    LOVES    A    RAINY    DAY]" 

THE  bored  editor ;  who,  for  one  millennial  day,  in  slippered 
feet,  controls  his  arm  chair,  exchanges,  stove,  and  inkstand  ; 
who  has  time  to  hunt  up  delinquent  subscribers ;  time  to  de 
cipher  hieroglyphical  manuscripts  ;  time  to  make  a  bonfire  of 
bad  poetry  ;  time  to  kick  out  lozenge  boys  and  image  venders ; 
time  to  settle  the  long-standing  quarrel  between  Nancy,  the 
type-setter,  and  Bill,  the  foreman,  and  time  to  write  compli 
mentary  letters  to  himself  for  publication  in  his  own  paper,  and 
to  get  up  a  new  humbug  prospectus  for  the  dear,  confiding 
public. 

Who  loves  a  rainy  day  ? 

The  little  child  of  active  limb,  reprieved  from  bench,  and 
book,  and  ferule ;  between  whom  and  the  wire-drawn  phiz  of 
grim  propriety,  those  friendly  drops  have  drawn  a  misty  vail  j 
who  is  now  free  to  laugh,  and  jump,  and  shout,  and  ask  the  puz 
zling  question  —  free  to  bask  in  the  sunny  smile  of  her,  to 
whom  no  sorrow  can  be  trivial  that  brings  a  cloud  over  that 
sunny  face,  or  dims  the  brightness  of  that  merry  eye. 

Who  loves  a  rainy  day  ? 

The  crazed  clergyman,  who  can  face  a  sheet  of  paper,  unin 
terrupted  by  dyspeptic  Deacon  Jones,  or  fault-finding  brother 


WHO     LOVES     A     RAINY     DAY.  807 

Grimes ;  or  cautious  Mr.  Smith ;  or  the  afflicted  Miss  Zelia 
Zephyr,  who,  for  several  long  years,  has  been  "  unable  to  find 
out  the  path  of  duty ; "  or  the  zealous  old  lady  Bunce,  who 
hopes  her  pastor  will  throw  light  on  the  precise  locality  fixed 
upon  in  the  future  state  for  idiots,  and  those  heathen  who  have 
never  seen  a  missionary. 

Who  loves  a  rainy  day  1 

The  disgusted  clerk,  who,  lost  ill  the  pages  of  some  care-be 
guiling  volume,  forgets  the  petticoat  destiny  which  relentlessly 
forces  him  to  unfurl  endless  yards  of  tinsel  lace  and  ribbon,  for 
lounging  dames,  with  empty  brains  and  purses,  whose  "  chief 
end"  it  seems  to  be  to  put  him  through  an  endless  catechism. 

Who  loves  a  rainy  day  1 

The  tidy  little  housewife,  who,  in  neat  little  breakfast-cap  and 
dressing-gown,  overlooks  the  short-comings  of  careless  cook 
and  house-maid ;  explores  cupboards,  cellars,  pantries,  and 
closets  ;  disembowels  old  bags,  old  boxes,  old  barrels,  old  kegs, 
old  firkins ;  who,  with  her  own  dainty  hand,  prepares  the  favor 
ite  morsel  for  the  dear,  absent,  toiling  husband,  or,  by  the  cheer 
ful  nursery  fire,  sews  on  the  missing  string  or  button,  or  sings 
to  soothing  slumbers  a  pair  of  violet  eyes,  whose  witching  coun 
terpart  once  stole  her  girlish  heart  away. 

Who  loves  a  rainy  day  ? 

/  do  !  Let  the  rain  fall ;  let  the  wind  moan  ;  let  the  leaf 
less  trees  reach  out  their  long  attenuated  fingers  and  tap  against 
my  casement:  pile  on  the  coal ;  wheel  up  the  arm-chair  ;  all  hail 
loose  ringlets  and  loose  dressing-robe.  Not  a  blessed  son  or 
daughter  of  Adam  can  get  here  to-day  !  Unlock  the  old  wri- 


308  WHO     LOVES     A     RAINY     DAT. 

ting  desk ;  overlook  the  old  letters.  There  is  a  bunch  tied  with 
a  ribbon  blue  as  the  eyes  of  the  writer.  Matrimony  quenched 
their  brightness  long  time  ago. 

Irish  help  (?)  and  crying  babies, 

I  grieve  to  say,  are  'mong  the  may -be':; ! 

And  here  is  a  package  written  by  a  despairing  Ccelebs  — 
once  intensely  interested  in  the  price  of  hemp  and  prussic  acid ; 
now  the  rotund  and  jolly  owner  of  a  princely  house,  a  queenly 
wife,  and  six  rollicksome  responsibilities.  Query :  whether 
the  faculty  ever  dissected  a  man  who  had  died  of  a  "broken 
heart  ?  " 

Here  is  another  package.  Let  the  fire  purify  them ;  never 
say  you  know  your  friend  till  his  tombstone  is  over  him. 

What  Solomon  says  "  handwriting  is  an  index  of  character1? " 
Give  him  the  cap  and  bells,  and  show  him  those  bold  pen- 
marks.  They  were  traced  by  no  Di  Vernon !  Let  me  sketch  the 
writer :  —  A  blushing,  smiling,  timid,  loving  little  fairy,  as  ever 
nestled  near  a  true  heart ;  with  a  step  like  the  fall  of  a  snow- 
flake,  and  a  voice  like  the  murmur  of  a  brook  in  June.  Poor 
little  Katie !  she  lays  her  cheek  now  to  a  little  cradle  sleeper's, 
and  starts  at  the  distant  footstep,  and  trembles  at  the  muttered 
curse,  and  reels  under  the  brutal  blow,  and,  woman-like  — 
loves  on ! 

And  what  have  we  here  1  A  sixpence  with  a  ribbon  in  it ! 
Oh,  those  Saturday  and  Wednesday  afternoons,  with  their 
hoarded  store  of  nuts  and  candy  —  the  broad,  green  meadow, 
with  its  fine  old  trees  —  the  crazy  old  swing,  and  the  fragrant 


WHO     LOVES     A     RAINY     DAY.  309 

tumble  in  the  grass  —  the  wreath  of  oak  leaves,  the  bunch  of 
wild  violets,  the  fairy  story  book,  the  little  blue  jacket,  the 
snowy  shirt-collar,  the  curly,  black  head,  with  its  soft,  blue 
eyes.  Oh,  first  love,  sugar-candy,  torn  aprons,  and  kisses ! 
where  have  ye  flown? 

What  is  this  1  only  a  pressed  flower ;  but  it  tells  me  of  a 
shadowy  wood  —  of  a  rippling  brook  —  of  a  bird's  song  —  of 
a  mossy  seat  —  of  whispered  leaf-music  —  of  dark*  soul-lit  eyes 
—  of  a  voice  sweet,  and  low,  and  thrilling  —  of  a  vow  never 
broken  till  death  chilled  the  lips  that  made  it.  Little  need  to 
look  at  the  pictured  face  that  lies  beside  me.  It  haunts  me 
sleeping  or  waking.  I  shall  see  it  again  —  life's  trials  passed. 


A  CONSCIENTIOUS  YOUNG  MAN. 

"There  is  no  object  in  nature  so  beautiful  as  a  conscientious  young  man." — 

[Exchange. 

Well ;  I've  seen  the  "  Sea-Dog,"  and  Thackeray  ;  and  Tom 
Thumb  and  Kossuth ;  the  "  Bearded  Lady  "  and  Father  Mat 
thew  ;  the  whistling  Canary,  and  Camille  Urso ;  the  "  white 
negro,"  and  Mrs.  Stowe ;  "  Chang  and  Eng,"  and  Jenny  Lind ; 
and  Miss  Bremer,  and  Madame  Sontag.  I  have  been  to  the 
top  of  the  State  House,  made  the  tour  of  the  "  Public  Gar 
den,"  and  crossed  the  "  Frog  Pond."  I  Ve  seen  Theodore  Par 
ker,  and  a  locomotive.  I  Ve  ridden  in  an  omnibus,  heard  a 
Fourth-of-July  oration,  and  I  once  saw  the  sun  rise ;  but  I  never, 
never  never  saw  "  a  conscientious  young  man." 

If  there  is  such  an  "  organization  "  on  the  periphery  of  this 
globe,  I  should  like  to  see  him.  If  he  is,  where  is  he  ?  Who 
owns  him  1  Where  did  they  raise  him  ?  What  does  he  feed 
on  1  For  whom  does  he  vote  ?  On  what  political  platform 
do  his  conscientious  toes  rest?  Does  he  know  the  difference 
between  a  Whig  and  a  Democrat  ?  between  a  "  Hunker  "  and 
a  "  Barnburner  1 "  between  a  "  hard-shell  "  and  a  "  soft-shell  1 " 
between  a  "  uniform  national  currency  "  and  a  "  sound  consti- 


ACONSCIENTIONS     YOUNG     MAN.  311 

tutional  currency  1  "  Docs  he  have  chills,  or  a  fever,  when  he 
sees  a  bonnet !  Docs  he  look  at  it  out  of  the  sides  of  his  eyes, 
like  a  bashful,  barn-yard  bantam,  or  dare  he  not  look  at  all  ? 
Does  he  show  the  "  white  feather,"  or  crow  defiance  ?  Does  he 
"  go  to  roost  "  at  sun-down  ?  and  does  he  rest  on  an  aristocratic 
perch  1  I  'm  all  alive  to  see  the  specimen.  My  opera-glass  is 
poised.  Will  he  be  at  the  World's  Fair  ?  Might  I  be  per 
mitted  to  shake  hands  with,  and  congratulate  him !  I  pause  for 
a  reply. 


CITY  SCENES  AND   CITY   LIFE 

NUMBER     ONE. 

"  EACH  to  his  taste,"  somebody  says :  so  say  f :  so  says 
Gotham.  Look  at  that  splendid  house,  with  its  massive  door 
way,  its  mammoth  plate-glass  windows,  its  tasteful  conserva 
tory,  where  the  snowy  Orange  blossom,  and  clustering  Rose, 
and  crimson  Cactus,  and  regal  Passion-flower,  and  fragrant  He 
liotrope  breath  out  their  little  day  of  sweetness.  See  that 
Gothic  stable,  with  its  faultless  span  of  horses,  and  liveried 
coachman,  and  anti-republican  carriage,  whose  coat  of  arms 
makes  our  National  Eagle  droop  his  fearless  pinions.  Then  cast 
your  eye  on  that  tumble-down,  wooden  grocery  adjoining,  send 
ing  up  its  reeking  fumes  of  rum,  onions,  and  salt  fish,  into  pa 
trician  nostrils  !  Go  where  you  will  in  New  York,  you  see  the 
same  strong  contrasts.  Feast  your  eyes  on  beauty,  and  a  skel 
eton  startles  you  at  its  side.  Lazarus  sitteth  ever  at  the  Gate 
of  Dives. 

Here  is  a  primary  school :  what  a  host  of  little  ragged  ur 
chins  are  crowding  in  !  Suppose  I  step  in  quietly  among  them. 
Now,  they  take  their  places  in  seats  terraced  off  one  above  an 
other,  so  that  each  little  face  is  distinctly  visible.  What  a 
pretty  sight !  and  how  Nature  loves  to  compensate !  sending 
beauty  to  the  hovel,  deformity  to  the  hall.  There's  a  boy, 


OITT     SCENES     AND     CITY     LIFE.  313 

now,  iu  that  ragged  jacket,  who  is  a  study  for  an  artist.  See 
his  broad,  ample  forehead ;  mark  how  his  dark  eyes  glow  : 
and  that  little  girl  at  his  side,  whose  chestnut  curls  droop  so 
gracefully  over  her  soft-fringed  eyes  and  dimpled  shoulders. 
And  that  dream-child  in  yonder  corner,  with  blue- veined,  trans 
parent  temples,  wrhose  spiritual  eyes  even  now  can  see  that 
fadeless  shore  to  which  bright  angels  beckon  him.  Deal  gently 
with  him  —  he  is  passing  away ! 

Here  comes  the  teacher,  brisk,  angular,  and  sharp-voiced. 
Heaven  pity  the  children  !  She 's  a  human  icicle — pastboard-y 
and  proper !  I  already  experience  a  mental  shiver.  Now 
she  conies  up  and  says,  (apologetically  to  my  new  satin  cloak,) 
"  You  see,  madam,  these  are  only  poor  children."  The  toadying 
creature  !  Lucky  for  her  that  I  'm  not  "  a  committee."  Can't 
her  dull  eyes  recognize  God's  image  in  • linsey-woolsey  1 
Can  she  see  no  genius  written  on  yonder  broad  forehead  1  No 
poetry  slumbering  in  yonder  sweet  eyes  1  Did  Franklin,  Clay, 
and  Webster  study  their  alphabet  in  silk  and  velvet  ?  She 
ought  to  be  promoted  to  the  dignity  of  toe-nail  polisher  to 
Queen  Victoria.  Now  she  hands  me  a  book,  in  which  visitors' 
names  are  inscribed,  and  requests  me  to  write  mine.  Certainly. 
"  Mrs.  John  Smith :  "  there  it  is.  Hope  she  likes  it  as  well 
as  I  do. 

— Speaking  of  names,  I  read  on  a  sign  yesterday,  that  "Rich 
ard  Haas:"  to-day  I  saw,  down  street,  that  "John  Haas." 
I  'm  sure  I  'm  glad  of  it.  I  congratulate  both  those  enterprising 
gentlemen.  There  goes  a  baker's  cart,  with  "  Ernest  Flog-er  " 

painted  on  the  side.     It  is  my  impression  that  if  you  do  it, 

N 


314  CITY     SCENES     AND     CITY     LIFK. 

Ernest,  "  your  cake  will  be  dough ; "  1853  being  considered  the 
millenium  of  "strong-minded  women."  Here  we  are,  most  to  the 
Battery.  "  Fanfernot  &  Dulac :  "  that  must  be  a  chain-light 
ning  firm.  Wonder  if  "  Fanfernot "  is  the  silent  partner  1 

Here 's  a  man  distributing  tracts.  Now,  if  he  hands  me  one, 
I  '11  throw  it  down.  See  how  meekly  he  picks  it  up,  and  hands 
me  another.  "  That 's  right,  friend  Colporteur,  I  only  wanted 
to  see  if  you  were  in  earnest :  glad  to  see  you  so  well 
employed." 

"  Yes,  Ma'am,"  he  says,  much  relieved,  "  sinners  here  in  New 
York  need  waking  up  "  —  which  sentiment  I  endorse,  and  ad 
vise  him  to  call  at  the  N.  Y.  Tribune  office. 

Down  comes  the  rain :  had  I  taken  my  umbrella,  not  a  drop 
would  have  fallen.  "  I  'spect "  I  was  born  on  a  Friday  ;  but 
as  that  can't  be  helped  now,  I'll  step  into  that  book-store  till  the 
shower  is  over.  The  owner  politely  gives  me  a  chair,  and  then 
hands  me,  for  my  edification,  the  last  fashion  prints  !  F-a-n- 
n-y  F-e-r-n !  can  it  be  possible  that  you  look  so  frivolous  1 
Tracts  and  fashion  prints,  both  offered  you  in  one  forenoon  ! 
Wonder  if  there's  a  second-hand  drab  Quaker  bonnet  any 
where,  that  will  subdue  your  "style1?" 

See  that  little  minstrel  in  front  of  the  store,  staggering  under 
the  weight  of  a  hand-organ.  What  a  crowd  of  little  beggar- 
boys  surround  him,  petitioning  "for  just  one  tune"  Now, 
I  wonder  if  the  rough  school  that  boy  has  been  in,  has  hardened 
his  heart?  Has  he  grown  prematurely  worldly-wise  and 
selfish  1  Will  he  turn  gruffly  away  from  that  penniless, 
Tom  Thumb  audience,  or  will  he  give  them  a  gratuitous 


CITY     SCENES     AND     CITY     LIFE.  315 

tune  1  God  be  thanked,  his  childish  heart  yet  beats  warm 
and  true  under  that  tattered  jacket.  He  smiles  sweetly  on  the 
eager  group,  and  strikes  up  "  Lang  Syne."  Other  than  mortal 
ears  are  listening !  That  deed,  unnoticed  by  the  hurrying 
Broadway  throng,  is  noted  by  the  Recording  Angel.  "  Inas 
much  as  ye  have  done  it  unto  one  of  the  least  of  these,  ye  have 
done  it  unto  Me." 

Sunshine  again !  dripping  awnings  and  sloppy  pavements. 
There 's  a  man  preaching  an  out-door  temperance  sermon :  what 
a  bungling  piece  of  work  he  makes  of  it !  If  he  would  lend  me 
that  pro  tern  barrel-pulpit  I  'd  astonish  him,  and  take  the  feather 
out  of  "  Miss  Lucy  Stone's"  bonnet. 

Let  us  cross  the  Park.  There 's  an  Irishman  seated  on  the 
withered  grass,  with  his  spade  beside  him,  leaning  wearily 
against  that  leafless  tree.  I  wonder  is  he  ill  ?  I  must  walk 
that  way  and  speak  to  him.  What  a  sudden  change  cornes 
over  his  rough  face !  it  looks  quite  beautiful.  Why  do  his  eyes 
kindle  1  Ah,  I  see  :  a  woman  approaches  from  yonder  path ; 
now  she  seats  herself  beside  him,  on  the  grass,  and  drawing  the 
cover  from  a  small  tin  kettle,  she  bends  over  the  steaming  con 
tents,  and  says,  with  a  smile,  that  is  a  perfect  heart-warmer, 
"  Dear  Dennis  ! "  Oh,  what  a  wealth  of  love  in  those  two  sim 
ple  words  ;  what  music  in  that  voice  !  Who  says  human  na 
ture  is  all  depravity  ?  Who  says  this  earth  is  but  a  charnel- 
house  of  withered  hopes  ?  Who  says  the  "  Heart's  Ease  " 
springs  never  from  the  rock  cleft  ?  Who  says  it  is  only  on 
patrician  soil  the  finer  feelings  struggle  into  leaf  and  bud  and 
blossom  ?  No — no  —  that  humble,  faithful  creature  has  trav 


316  CITY     SCENES     AND     CITY     LIFE. 

eled  weary  miles  with  needful  food,  that  "  Dennis  "  may  waste 
no  unnecessary  time  from  labor.  And  there  they  sit,  side  by 
side,  happy  and  blessed  in  each  other,  deaf  to  the  ceaseless  tide 
of  business  and  pleasure  flowing  past,  blind  to  the  supercilious 
gaze  of  the  pompous  millionaire,  the  curious  stare  of  pampered 
beauty,  the  derisive  laugh  of  "  Young  America,"  and  the  little 
romance  they  have  set  my  brain  a-weaving  !  What  a  pretty 
episode  amid  all  this  Babel  din  !  What  a  delicious  little  bit 
of  nature  midst  this  fossil  hearted  Gotham ! 

How  true  —  how  beautiful  the  words  of  Holy  Writ !  "Bet- 
ter  is  a  dinner  of  herbs,  where  love  is,  than  a  stalled  ox,  and 
hatred  therewith." 


What  an  immensely  tall  man !  he  looks  like  a  barber's  pole 
in  those  serpentine  pants.  Why  does  he  make  those  gyra 
tions  ?  Why  does  he  beckon  that  short  man  to  his  side  ? 
Well,  I  declare !  everything  comical  comes  to  my  net !  He 
has  taken  out  a  slip  of  paper,  and  using  the  short  man's  head 
for  a  writing-desk,  is  scribbling  off  some  directions  for  a  porter 
in  waiting  !  The  lamb-like  non-resistance  of  the  short  man  is 
only  equalled  by  the  cool  impudence  of  the  scribe  !  What  a 
picture  for  Hogarth ! 


CITY    SCENES    AND    CITY    LIFE. 

NUMBER      TWO. 

THE  fashionables  are  yet  yawning  on  their  pillows.  Nobody 
is  abroad  but  the  workies.  So  much  the  better.  Omnibus 
drivers  begin  to  pick  up  their  early-breakfast  customers.  The 
dear  little  children,  trustful  and  rosy,  are  hurrying  by  to  school. 
Apple  women  are  arranging  their  stalls,  and  slyly  polishing 
their  fruit  with  an  old  stocking.  The  shopkeepers  are  placing 
their  goods  in  the  most  tempting  light,  in  the  store  windows ; 
and  bouquet  venders,  with  their  delicious  burthens,  have  already 
taken  their  stand  on  the  saloon  and  hotel  steps. 

Here  come  that  de-socialized  class,  the  New  York  business 
men,  with  their  hands  thrust  moodily  into  their  coat  pockets, 
their  eyes  buttoned  fixedly  down  to  the  sidewalk,  and  "  the  al 
mighty  dollar  "  written  legibly  all  over  them.  If  the  automa 
tons  would  but  show  some  sign  of  life ;  were  it  only  by  a  whis 
tle.  I  'm  very  sure  the  tune  would  be 

"I know  a — Bank!" 

See  that  pretty  little  couple  yonder,  crouched  upon  the  side 
walk?  What  have  you  there,  little  ones'?  Five  little,  fat, 
roly-poly  puppies,  as  I  live,  all  heads  and  tails,  curled  up  in  that 


318  CITY     SCENES     AND     CITY     LIFE. 

comical  old  basket !  And  you  expect  to  get  "  a  dollar  apiece  " 
for  them?  Bless  your  dear  little  souls,  Broadway  is  full  of 
"  puppies,"  who  never  "  bring  "  anything  but  odious  cigar  smoke, 
that  ever  I  could  find  out.  Puppies  are  at  a  discount,  my  dar 
lings.  Peanuts  are  a  safer  investment. 

Here  we  are  at  Trinity  Church.  I  doubt  if  human  lips  with 
in  those  walls  ever  preached  as  eloquently  as  those  century 
grave-stones.  How  the  sight  of  them  involuntarily  arrests  the 
bounding  footstep,  and  the  half-developed  plan  of  the  scheming 
brain,  and  wakes  up  the  slumbering  immortal  in  our  nature. 
How  the  eye  turns  a  questioning  glance  from  those  moss-grown 
graves,  inward  —  then  upward  to  the  soft,  blue  heavens  above 
us.  How  for  a  brief  moment  the  callous  heart  grows  kindly, 
and  we  forget  the  mote  in  our  brother's  eye,  and  cease  to  re 
pulse  the  outspread  palm  of  charity,  and  recognise  the  claims 
of  a  common  brotherhood ;  and  then  how  the  sweeping  tide 
comes  rolling  over  us,  and  the  clink  of  dollars  and  cents  drowns 
"  the  still  small  voice,"  and  Eternity  recedes,  and  Earth  only 
seems  tangible,  and  Mammon,  and  Avarice,  and  Folly  rule  the 
never  returning  hours. 

Now  glance  over  the  church-yard  yonder  into  the  street  be 
low.  Cholera  and  pestilence,  what  a  sight !  flanked  on  one 
side  by  the  charnel-house,  on  the  other  by  houses  whose  base 
ments  are  groggeries  and  markets,  and  at  whose  every  pane  of 
glass  may  be  seen  a  score  of  dirty  faces :  the  middle  of  the 
street  a  quagmire  of  jelly-mud,  four  inches  deep,  on  which  are 
strewn,  ad-infinitum,  decayed  potatoes  and  cabbage  stumps,  old 
bones  and  bonnets,  mouldy  bread,  salt  fish  and  dead  kittens. 


CITY     SCENES     AND     CITY     LIFE.  319 

That  pussy-cat  New  York  corporation  should  be  put  on  a  diet 
of  peppered  thunder  and  gunpowder  tea,  and  harnessed  to  a 
comet  for  six  months.  I  doubt  if  even  then  the  old  poppies 
would  wake  up. 

Do  you  see  that  piece  of  antiquity  playing  the  bagpipe  ? 
He  is  as  much  a  fixture  as  your  country  cousin.  There  he 
sits,  through  heat  and  cold,  squeezing  out  those  horrible  sounds 
with  his  skinny  elbow,  and  keeping  time  with  his  nervous  eye- 
winkers.  He  gets  up  his  own  programme,  and  is  his  own  or 
chestra,  door-keeper  and  audience  :  nobody  stops  to  listen,  no 
body  fees  him,  nobody  seems  to  enjoy  it  so  hugely  as  himself. 

Who  talks  about  wooden  nutmegs  in  the  hearing  of  Gotham  ? 
Does  a  shower  come  up  1  Men  start  up  as  if  by  magic,  with 
all-sized  India  rubbers  for  sale,  and  ragged  little  boys  nudge 
your  elbows  to  purchase  "  cheap  cotton  umbrellas."  Does  the 
wind  veer  round  south  ]  A  stack  of  palm-leaf  fans  takes  the 
place  of  the  umbrellas.  Have  you  the  misfortune  to  trip  upon 
the  sidewalk  ?  a  box  of  Russia  salve  is  immediately  unlidded 
under  your  nose.  Do  you  stop  to  arrange  your  gaiter  boot  ? 
whole  strings  of  bootlacings  are  dangled  before  your  aston 
ished  eyes.  Do  your  loosened  waistbands  remind  you  of  the 
dinner  hour  ?  before  your  door  stands  a  man  brandishing  "  pa 
tent  carving  knives,"  warranted  to  dissever  the  toughest  old 
rooster  that  ever  crowed  over  a  hen  harem. 

Speaking  of  hens  —  see  that  menagerie,  in  one  of  the  hand 
somest  parts  of  Broadway,  defaced  by  that  blood  and  murder 
daub  of  a  picture,  representing  every  animal  that  ever  flew  or 
trotted  into  Noah's  ark,  beside  a  few  that  the  good  old  gentle- 


320  CITY     SCENES     AND     CITY     LIFE. 

man  never  undertook  to  perpetuate.  See  them  lashing  their 
tails,  bristling  their  manes,  ploughing  the  air  and  tossing  high 
above  their  incensed  horns,  that  distracted  gory  biped,  whose 
every  individual  hair  is  made  to  stand  on  end  with  horror,  and 
his  coat-tail  astonishingly  to  perpendicularize.  Countrymen 
stand  agape  while  pickpockets  lighten  them  of  their  purses ; 
innocent  little  children,  with  saucer  eyes,  shy  to  the  further 
edge  of  the  sidewalk,  and  hurry  home  with  an  embryo  night 
mare  in  their  frightened  craniums.  "  Jonathan "  pays  his 
"  quarter,"  and  is  astonished  to  find  upon  entering,  a  very  tame 
collection  of  innocent  beasts  and  beastesses,  guiltless  of  any  in 
tention  to  growl,  unless  poked  by  the  long  pole  of  curiosity. 
Dissatisfied,  he  descends  to  the  cellar,  to  see  the  elephant,  who 
holds  a  sleepy  levee,  for  all  who  feel  inclined  to  pack  his  trunk 
with  the  apples  and  cake,  which  a  shrewd  stall-keeping  Yankee 
in  the  corner  disinterestedly  advises  them  to  buy,  "just  to  see 
how  the  critter  eats." 

"Well;  two-headed  calves,  one-eyed  buffaloes,  skeleton  os 
triches,  and  miles  of  serpents,  are  every  day  matters ;  but  yon 
der  is  an  announcement  that  "Two  Wild  Men  from  Borneo" 
may  be  seen  within.  Now  that  interests  me.  "  They  have  the 
faculty  of  speech,  but  are  deficient  in  memory."  Bless  me, 
you  don't  mean  to  say  that  those  little  Hop  o'  my  Thumbs 
have  the  temerity  to  call  themselves  "Men?"  little  humbug, 
pocket  editions.  But  what  pretty  little  limbs  they  have,  and  how 
they  shiver  in  this  cold  climate,  spite  of  the  silk  and  India-rubber 
dress  they  wear  under  those  little  tights.  "  The  youngest  weighs 
only  twenty-seven,  the  oldest  thirty-four  pounds;"  so  the  keeper 


CITY    SCENES    AND    CITY    LIFE.  321 

says,  who,  forming  a  circle,  lays  one  hand  on  the  head  of  each,  and 
commences  his  stereotyped,  menagerie  exordium,  oblivious  of 
commas,  colons,  semi-colons,  periods  or  breath ;  adding  at  the 
close,  that  the  Wild  Men  will  now  shake  hands  with  any  child 
who  may  be  present,  but  will  always  bite  an  adult"  Nothing 
b'ke  a  barrier  to  make  femininity  leap  over.  I  'm  bent  upon 
having  the  first  "  adult "  shake.  The  keeper  says,  "  Better  not, 
Ma'am,"  (showing  a  scar  on  his  finger,)  "  they  bit  that  een-a-most 
to  the  bone."  Of  course,  snapping  at  masculinity,  is  no  proof 
to  me  of  their  unsusceptibility  to  feminine  evangelization ;  on 
the  contrary.  So,  taking  a  cautious  patrol  around  the  interest 
ing  little  savages,  I  hold  out  my  hand.  Allah  be  praised  !  they 
take  it,  and  my  five  digits  still  remain  at  the  service  of  printers 
and  publishers! 

21b 


CITY  SCENES   AND    CITY    LIFE. 

NUMBER     THREE. 

WHAT  a  never-ceasing  bell-jingling,  what  a  stampede  of  ser 
vants,  what  a  continuous  dumping  down  of  big  trunks ;  what 
transits,  what  exits,  what  a  miniature  world  is  a  hotel !  Pano 
rama-like,  the  scene  shifts  each  hour ;  your  vis-a-vis  at  break 
fast,  supping,  ten  to  one,  in  the  Rocky  Mountains.  How  de 
lightful  your  unconsciousness  of  what  you  are  foreordained  to 
eat  for  dinner ;  how  nonchalantly  in  the  morning  you  handle 
tooth-brush  and  head-brush,  certain  of  a  cup  of  hot  coffee  when 
ever  you  see  fit  to  make  your  advent.  How  scientifically  your 
fire  is  made,  without  any  unnecessary  tattooing  of  shovel,  tongs 
and  poker.  What  a  chain-lightning  answer  to  your  bell  sum 
mons;  how  oblivious  is  "No.  14"  of  your  existence;  how 
indifferent  is  "  No.  25  "  whether  you  sneeze  six  or  seven  times 
a  day ;  how  convenient  are  the  newspapers  and  letter-stamps, 
obtainable  at  the  clerk's  office ;  how  digestible  your  food  ;  how 
comfortable  your  bed,  and  how  never-to-be-sufficiently-enjoyed 
the  general  let-alone-ativeness. 

Avaunt,  ye  lynx-eyed  "  private  boarding-houses,"  with  your 
two  slip-shod  Irish  servants ;  your  leaden  bread,  leather  pies, 


CITY     SCENES     AND      CITY      LIFE.  323 

ancient  fowls,  bad  gravies,  omnium  gatherum  bread  puddings, 
and  salt  fish,  and  cabbage  perfumed  entries  ;  ycur  washing-day 
"  hashes,"  your  ironing-day  "  stews,"  and  all  ycur  other  "  com 
forts  of  a  home  "  (?)  not  explicitly  set  forth  in  your  advertise 
ments. 

Rat-tat,  rat-tat-tat !  what  a  fury  that  old  gentleman  seems  to 
be  in.  Whoever  occupies  No.  40,  must  either  be  deaf  or 
without  nerves.  Rat-tat !  what  an  obstinate  human !  there 
he  goes  again !  ah,  now  the  door  opens,  and  a  harmless- 
looking  clergyman  glides  past  him,  down  the  stairs.  Too  late 
—  too  late,  papa  —  the  knot  is  tied  ;  no  use  in  making  a  fuss. 
Just  sec  that  pretty  little  bride,  blushing,  crying,  and  clinging 
to  her  boy  husband.  Just  remember  the  time,  sir,  when  the 
"  auld  wife  "  at  home  made  you  thrill  to  the  toes  of  your  boots; 
remember  how  perfectly  oblivious  you  were  of  guide-boards 
or  mile-stones,  when  you  went  to  sec  her ;  how  you  used  to 
hug  and  kiss  her  little  brother  Jim,  though  he  was  the  ugliest, 
mischievous-est  little  snipe  in  Christendom  ;  how  you  used  to 
read  books  for  hours  upside  down,  and  how  you  wondered  what 
people  meant  by  calling  the  moon  "  cold ; "  how  you  wound 
up  your  watch  half-a-dozen  times  a  day,  and  had  n't  the  slightest 
idea  whether  you  were  eating  geese  or  grindstones  for  dinner  ; 
how  affectionately  you  nodded  to  Mr.  Brown,  of  whom  her  fa 
ther  bought  his  groceries ;  how  complacently  you  sat  out  the 
minister's  seventh-lie  by  her  side  at  church  ;  how  wolfy  you  felt 
if  any  other  piece  of  broadcloth  approached  her ;  how  devoutly 
you  wished  you  were  that  little  bit  of  blue  ribbon  round  her 
throat ;  and  how,  one  moonlight  night,  when  she  laid  her  head 


324  CITY     SCENES     AND     CITV     LIFE, 

against  your  vest-pattern,  you did  n't  care  a  mint-julep 

whether  the  tailor  ever  got  paid  for  it  or  not !  Now,  just  ima 
gine  her  papa,  stepping  in  and  deliberately  turning  all  that 
cream  to  vinegar ;  would  n't  you  have  effervesced  1  Certainly. 

See  that  little  army  of  boots  in  the  entry  outside  the  doors. 
May  I  need  a  pair  of  spectacles,  if  one  of  their  owners  has  a 
decent  foot !  No.  20  turns  his  toes  in,  No.  30  treads  over  at 
the  side ;  No.  40  has  a  pedestal  like  an  elephant.  Stay  !  — 
there 's  a  pair  now  —  Jupiter  !  what  a  high  instep !  what  a 
temper  that  man  has !  wonder  if  those  are  married  boots  ? 
Heaven  help  Mrs.  Boots,  when  her  husband  finds  a  button  mis 
sing  !  It  strikes  me  that  I  should  like  to  mis-mate  all  those 
boots,  and  view,  at  a  respectful  distance,  the  young  tornado  in 
the  entry,  when  the  gong  sounds  ! 

Oh,  you  cunning  little  curly-headed,  fairy-footed,  dim 
ple-limbed  pet !  Who  is  blessed  enough  to  own  you  ?  Did 
you  know,  you  little  human  blossom,  that  I  was  aunt  to  all  the 
children  in  creation  ?  Your  eyes  are  as  blue  as  the  violets,  and 
your  little  pouting  lip  might  tempt  a  bee  from  a  rose.  Did 
mamma  make  you  that  dainty  little  kirtle  1  and  papa  find  you 
that  horsewhip  1 

"  Papa  is  dead,  and  mamma  is  dead,  too.  Mamma  can't 
see  Charley  any  more." 

God  bless  your  sweet  helplessness !  creep  into  my  arms, 
Charley.  My  darling,  you  are  never  alone ! — mamma's  sweet, 
tender  eyes  look  lovingly  on  Charley  out  of  Heaven ;  mam 
ma's  bright  angel  wings  ever  overshadow  little  Charley's  head ; 
mamma  and  the  holy  stars  keep  watch  over  Charley's  slum 


CITY     SCENES     AND     CITY     LIFE.  325 

bers.  Mamma  sings  a  sweeter  song  when  little  Charley  says 
a  prayer.  Going  1  —  well,  then,  one  kiss ;  for  sure  I  am,  the 
angels  will  want  you  before  long. 

What  is  that  ?  A  sick  gentleman,  borne  in  on  a  litter,  from 
shipboard.  Poor  fellow  !  how  sunken  are  his  great  dark  eyes ! 
how  emaciated  his  limbs !  What  can  ail  him  ?  Nobody 
knows ;  not  a  word  of  English  can  he  speak  ;  and  the  captain 
is  already  off^  too  happy  to  rid  himself  of  all  responsibility. 
Lucky  for  the  poor  invalid  that  our  gallant  host  has  a  heart 
warm  and  true.  How  tenderly  he  lifts  the  invalid  to  his  room ; 
how  expeditiously  he  dispatches  his  orders  for  a  Spanish  doctor 
and  nurse ;  how  imploringly  the  sufferer's  speaking  eyes  are 
fastened  upon  his  face.  Ah !  Death  glided  in  at  yonder  door 
with  the  sick  man  ;  his  grasp  is  already  on  his  heart ;  the  doc 
tor  stands  aside  and  folds  his  hands  —  there's  no  work  for  Mm 
to  do  ;  dark  shadows  gather  round  the  dying  strangei''s  eyes ; 
he  presses  feebly  the  hand  of  his  humane  host,  and  gasps  out 
the  last  fluttering  breath  on  that  manly  heart.  Strange  hands 
are  busy  closing  his  eyes  ;  strange  hands  straighten  his  limbs  ; 
a  strange  priest  comes  all  too  late  to  shrive  the  sick  man's  soul; 
strange  eyes  gaze  carelessly  upon  the  features,  one  glimpse  of 
which  were  worth  Golconda's  mines  to  far-off  kindred.  Now 
the  undertaker  comes  with  the  coffin.  Touch  him  gently,  man 
of  business  ;  lay  those  dark  locks  tenderly  on  the  satin  pillow ; 
hear  you  not  a  far-off  wail  from  sunny  Spain,  as  the  merry  song 
at  the  vintage  feast  dies  upon  the  lip  of  the  stricken-hearted  ? 


CITY  SCENES  AND  CITY  LIFE. 

NUMBEK      FOUR. 

BARNUH'S  POULTRY  SHOW. 

DEFEND  my  ears !  Do  you  suppose  Noah  had  to  put  up 
with  such  a  cackling  and  crowing  as  this,  in  his  ark  ?  I  trust 
ear-trumpets  are  cheap,  for  I  stand  a  chance  of  becoming  as 
deaf  as  a  husband,  when  his  wife  asks  him  for  money. 

I  have  always  hated  a  rooster ;  whether  from  his  perch,  be 
fore  daylight,  he  shrilly,  spitefully,  and  unnecessarily,  recalled 
me  from  rosy  dreams  to  stupid  realities ;  or  when  strolling  at 
the  head  of  his  hang-dog  looking  seraglio  of  hens,  he  stood 
poised  on  one  foot,  gazing  back  at  the  meek  procession  with  an 
air  that  said,  as  plain  as  towering  crests  and  tail  feathers  could 
say  it  —  "  Stir  a  foot  if-  you  dare,  till  I  give  you  the  signal !  " — 
at  which  demonstration,  I  looked  instinctively  about,  for  a  big 
stone,  to  take  the  nonsense  out  of  him ! 

Save  us,  what  a  crowd !  There  are  more  onions  here  than 
patchouli,  more  worsted  wrappers  than  Brummel  neck-ties,  and 
more  brogans  than  patent  leather.  Most  of  the  visitors  gaze 
at  the  perches,  through  barn-yard  spectacles.  For  myself,  I 
don't  care  an  egg-shell,  whether  that  old  "  Shanghai  "  knew  who 


CITY     SCENES     AND     CITY     LIFE.  327 

her  grandfather  was  or  not,  or  whether  those  "  Dorkings  "  were 
ever  imprudent  enough  to  let  their  young  affections  rove  from 
their  native  roost.  Yankee  eyes  were  made  to  be  used,  and  the 
first  observation  mine  take,  is,  that  those  gentlemen  fowls  seem 
to  have  reversed  the  order  of  things  here  in  New  York,  being 
very  superior  in  point  of  beauty  to  the  feminines.  Of  course 
they  know  it.  See  them  strut !  There  never  was  a  masculine 
y^t  whom  you  could  enlighten  on  such  a  point. 

Now,  were  I  a  hen,  (which,  thank  the  parish  register,  I  am 
not,)  I  would  cross  my  claws,  succumb  to  that  tall  Polander 
with  his  crested  helmet  of  black  and  white  feathers,  and  share 
his  demonstrative  perch. 

Oh,  you  pretty  little  "  carrier  doves  !  "  I  could  find  a  use  for 
you.  Do  you  ever  tap-tap  at  the  wrong  window,  you  little 
snow-flakes  1  Have  you  learned  the  secret  of  soaring  above 
the  heads  of  your  enemies  1  Are  you  impregnable  to  bribes, 
in  the  shape  of  feed  ? 

There  's  an  Eagle,  fierce  as  a  Hospodar.  Bird  of  Jove ! 
that  you  should  stay  caged  in  the  tantalizing  vicinity  of  those 
fat  little  bantams !  Try  the  strength  of  your  pinions,  grim  old 
fellow ;  call  no  man  jailer ;  turn  your  back  on  Barnum,  and 
stare  the  sun  out  of  countenance  ! 

Observe  with  what  aristocratic  nonchalance  those  salmon- 
colored  pigeons  sit  their  perch !  See  that  ruffle  of  feathers 
about  their  dignified  Elizabethan  throats.  I  am  not  at  all  sure 
that  I  should  have  intruded  into  their  regal  presence,  without 
being  heralded  by  a  court  page. 

Do  you  call  those  two  moving  bales  of  wool,  sheep  ?     Hur- 


32$  CITY     SCENES     AND     CITY     LIFE. 

rah  for  "Ayrshire"  farming!  Fleece  six  inches  deep,  and 
the  animals  not  half  grown.  Comfortable  looking  January-de 
fiers,  may  your  shearing  be  mercifully  postponed  till  the  dog 
days. 

Pigs,  too  ?  petite,  white  and  frisky ;  two  hundred  dollars  a 
pair !  P-h-e-w !  and  such  pretty  little  gaiter  boots  to  be  had 
in  Broadway !  Disgusting  little  porkers,  don 't  wink  your  pink 
eyes  at  my  Jewish  resolution. 

Puppies  for  sale?  long-eared  and  short-eared,  shaggy  and 
shaven,  bobtailed- — curtailed — and  to  be  re-tailed  !  Spaniel 
terrier  and  embryo  Newfoundland.  Ho !  ye  unappropriated 
spinsters,  with  a  superfluity  of  long  evenings  —  ye  forlorn  bach 
elors,  weary  of  solitude  and  boot-jacks,  listen  to  these  yelping 
applicants  for  your  yearning  affections,  and  "  down  with  the 
dust." 

"  Nelly  for  sale,  at  twenty  dollars."  Poor  little  antelope  ! 
The  gods  send  your  soft,-  dark  eyes  an  appreciative  purchaser. 
I  look  into  their  human-like  depths,  and  invoke  for  you  the  vel 
vety,  flower-bestrewn  lawn,  the  silver  lake,  in  which  your 
graceful  limbs  are  mirrored  as  you  stoop  to  drink,  the  leafy 
shade  of  fret-work  leaves  in  the  panting  noon-tide  heat,  and  the 
watchful  eye  and  caressing  hand  of  some  bright  young  crea 
ture,  to  whom  the  earth  is  one  glad  anthem,  and  whose  sweet 
young  life  (like  yours)  is  innocent  and  pure. 

Avaunt,  pretentious  peacocks,  flaunting  your  gaudy  plumage 
before  our  sated  eyes.  See  that  beautiful  "  Golden  Pheasant," 
on  whose  plump  little  body,  clad  in  royal  crimson,  the  sunlight 
lingers  so  lovingly.  See  the  silky  fall  of  those  flossy,  golden 


CITY     SCENES     AND     CITY     LIFE.  329 

feathers  about  his  arching  neck.  Glorious  pheasant !  do  you 
know  that  "  a  thing  of  beauty  is  a  joy  forever  ?  "  Make  your 
home  with  me,  and  feast  my  pen-weary  eyes :  flit  before  me 
when  the  sunlight  of  happiness  is  clouded  in,  and  the  gray, 
leaden  clouds  of  sorrow  overcast  my  sky  ;  perch  upon  my  fin 
ger  ;  lay  your  soft  neck  to  my  cheek ;  bring  me  visions  of  a 
happier  shore,  where  love  is  written  on  the  rainbow's  arch, 
heard  in  the  silver-tripping  stream,  seen  in  the  blossom-laden 
bough  and  bended  blade,  quivering  under  the  weight  of  dewy 
gems,  and  hymned  by  the  quiet  stars,  whose  ever-moving  har 
mony  is  unmarred  by  the  discord  of  envy,  hate,  or  soul-blasting 
uncharitableness.  Beautiful  pheasant !  come,  bring  thoughts  of 
beauty  and  peace  to  me  ! 

—  Loving  Jenny  Lind  smiles  upon  us  from  yonder  canvass. 
Would  that  we  might  hear  her  little  Swedish  chicken  peep ! 
Not  a  semi-quaver  careth  the  mother-bird  for  the  homage  of 
the  Old  World  or  New.  The  artless  clapping  of  little  Otto's 
joyous  hands,  drowns  all  the  ringing  plaudits,  wafted  across  the 
ocean.  A  Dead  Sea  apple  is  fame,  dear  Jenny,  to  a  true 
woman's  heart.  Happy  to  have  hung  thy  laurel  wreath  on 
Otto's  little  cradle. 


TWO    PICTURES. 

You  will  always  see  Mrs.  Judkins  in  her  place  at  the  sunrise 
prayer-meeting.  She  is  secretary  to  the  "  Moral  Reform," 
"  Abolition,"  "  Branch  Colporteur  and  Foreign  Mission  "  Socie 
ties.  She  is  tract  distributor,  manager  of  an  "  Infant  School," 
cuts  out  all  the  work  for  the  Brown  Steeple  Sewing  Circle ; 
belongs  to  the  "  Select  Female  Prayer  Meeting ;  "  goes  to  the 
Friday  night  church  meeting,  Tuesday  evening  lecture,  and 
Saturday  night  Bible  Class,  and  attends  three  services  on  Sun 
day.  Every  body  says,  "  What  an  eminent  Christian  is  Mrs. 
Judkins ! " 

Mrs.  Judkins'  house  and  servants  take  care  of  themselves. 
Her  little  boys  run  through  the  neighborhood,  peeping  into 
grocery  and  provision  stores,  loitering  at  the  street  corners,  and 
throwing  stones  at  the  paesers-by.  Her  husband  comes  home 
to  a  disorderly  house,  eats  indigestible  dinners,  and  returns  to 
his  gloomy  counting-room,  sighing  that  his  hard  earnings  are 
wasted,  and  his  children  neglected ;  and  sneering  at  the  religion 
which  brings  forth  such  questionable  fruits. 


TWO     PICTURES.  331 

MRS.  Brown  is  a  church  member.  Mrs.  Judkins  has  called 
upon  her,  and  brought  the  tears  into  her  mild  blue  eyes,  by 
telling  her  that  she  in  particular,  and  the  church  in  general,  have 
been  pained  to  notice  Mrs.  Brown's  absence  from  the  various 
religious  gatherings  and  societies  above  mentioned ;  that  it  is 
a  matter  of  great  grief  to  them,  that  she  is  so  lukewarm,  and 
does  not  enjoy  religion  as  much  as  they  do. 

Mrs.  Brown  has  a  sickly  infant ;  her  husband  (owing  to  sad 
reverses)  is  in  but  indifferent  circumstances ;  they  have  but  one 
inexperienced  servant.  All  the  household  outgoings  and  incom 
ings,  must  be  carefully  watched,  and  looked  after.  The  little 
wailing  infant  is  never  out  of  the  maternal  arms,  save  when  its 
short  slumbers  give  her  a  momentary  reprieve.  Still,  the 
little  house  is  in  perfect  order.  The  table  tasteful  and  tempt 
ing,  although  the  bill  of  fare  is  unostentatious ;  the  children 
are  obedient,  respectful,  happy  and  well  cared  for.  Morning 
and  evening,  amid  her  varied  and  pressing  cares,  she  bends  the 
knee  in  secret,  to  Him  whom  her  maternal  heart  recognizes  as 
"  My  Lord  and  my  God."  No  mantle  of  dust  shrouds  the 
"  Ilo'y  Book."  The  sacred  household  altar  flame  never  dies  out. 
Littl-e  dimpled  hands  are  reverently  folded ;  little  lips  lisping 
say,  "  Our  Father."  Half  a  day  on  each  returning  Sabbath, 
finds  the  patient  mother  in  her  accustomed  place  in  the  sanctu 
ary.  At  her  hearth  and  by  her  board,  the  holy  man  of  God 
hath  smiling  welcome.  "Her  children  rise  up  and  call  her 
blessed ;  her  husband  also,  and  he  praiseth  her ;  "  while  on  hi<?h, 
the  recording  angel  hath  written,  "  She  hath  done  what  she 
could? 


FEMININE    WAITERS   AT   HOTELS. 

"  Some  of  our  leading  hotel-keepers  are  considering  tho  policy  of  employing  fe 
male  -waiters." 

GOOD  news  for  you,  poor  pale-faced  sempstresses  !  Throw 
your  thimbles  at  the  heads  of  your  penurious  employers ;  put 
on  your  neatest  and  plainest  dress ;  see  that  your  feet  and  fin 
gers  are  immaculate,  and  then  rush  en  masse  for  the  situation, 
ousting  every  white  jacket  in  Yankeedom.  Stipulate  with  your 
employers,  for  leave  to  carry  ill  the  pocket  of  your  French 
apron,  a  pistol  loaded  with  cranberry  sauce,  to  plaster  up  the 
mouth  of  the  first  coxcomb  who  considers  it  necessary  to  pre 
face  his  request  for  an  omelette,  with  "My  dear."1''  It  is  my 
opinion  that  one  such  hint  will  be  sufficient ;  if  not,  you  can 
vary  the  order  of  exercises,  by  anointing  him  with  a  "  HASTY 
plate  of  soup  "  at  dinner. 

Always  make  a  moustache  wait  twice  as  long  as  you  do  a 
man  who  wears  a  clean,  presentable  lip.  Should  he  undertake 
to  expedite  your  slippers  by  "  a  fee,"  tell  him  that  hotel  bills 
are  generally  settled  at  the  clerk's  office,  except  by  very  ver 
dant  travelers. 

Should  you  see  a  woman  at  the  table,  digging  down  to  the 
bottom  of  the  salt  cellar,  as  if  the  top  stratum  were  too  plebe 


FEMININE     WAITERS.  333 

ian  ;  or  ordering  ninety-nine  messes  (turning  aside  from  each 
with  affected  airs  of  disgust,)  or  rolling  up  the  whites  of  her 
eyes,  declaring  that  she  never  sat  down  to  a  dinner-table  before 
minus  "  finger  glasses,"  you  may  be  sure  that  her  aristocratic 
blood  is  nourished,  at  home,  on  herrings  and  brown  bread. 
When  a  masculine  comes  in  with  a  white  vest,  flashy  neck-tic, 
extraordinary  looking  plaid  trousers,  several  yards  of  gold  chain 
festooned  over  his  vest,  and  a  mammoth  seal  ring  on  his  little 
finger,  you  may  be  sure  that  his  tailor  and  his  laundress  are 
both  on  the  anxious  seat;  and  whenever  you  see  travelers 
of  either  sex  peregrinating  the  country  in  their  "best  bib  and 
tucker,"  you  can  set  them  down  for  unmitigated  "  snobs,"  for 
high-bred  people  can't  afford  to  be  so  extravagant ! 

I  dare  say  you  '11  get  sick  of  so  much  pretension  and  hum 
bug.  Never  mind ;  it  is  better  than  to  be  stitching  yourselves 
into  a  consumption  over  six-penny  shirts ;  you  '11  have  your 
fun  out  of  it.  This  would  be  a  horridly  stupid  world,  if  every 
body  were  sensible.  I  thank  my  stars  every  day,  for  the  share 
of  fools  a  kind  Providence  sends  in  my  way. 


LETTERTO  THE  EMPRESS  EUGENIA. 

A  PARIS  LETTEE  says: — Lady  Montijohas  left  Paris  for  Spain.  She  was  ex 
tremely  desirous  of  remaining  and  living  in  the  reflection  of  her  daughter's  grandeur, 
but  Louis  Napoleon,  who  shares  in  the  general  prejudice  against  step-mothers,  gava 
her  plainly  to  understand,  that  because  he  had  married  Eugenia,  she  must  not  sup 
pose  he  had  married  her  whole  family.  She  was  allowed  to  linger  six  weeks,  to  have 
the  entree  of  the  Tuileries,  and  to  see  her  movements  chronicled  in  the  Pays.  She 
has  at  last  left  us,  and  the  telegraph  mentions  her  arrival  at  Orleans,  on  her  way  to 
the  Peninsula. 

THERE  Teba !  did  not  I  say  you  would  need  all  those  two- 
thousand-franc  pocket-handkerchiefs  before  your  orange  wreath 
had  begun  to  give  signs  of  wilting?  Why  did  you  let  your 
mamma  go,  you  little  simpleton  1  Before  Nappy  secured  your 
neck  in  the  matrimonial  noose,  you  should  have  had  it  put 
down,  in  black  and  white,  that  Madame  Montijo  was  to  live 
with  you  till  —  the  next  revolution,  if  you  chose  to  have  her. 
Now  you  have  struck  your  colors,  of  course"  everything  will 
"  go  by  the  board."  I  tell  you  Teba,  that  a  fool  is  the  most 
unmanageable  of  all  beings.  He  is  as  dogged  and  perverse  as 
a  broken-down  donkey.  You  can  neither  goad  nor  coax  him 
into  doing  anything  he  should  do,  or  prevent  his  doing  what  he 
should  not  do.  You  will  have  to  leave  Nappy  and  come  over 
here  ;  —  and  then  everybody  will  nudge  somebody's  elbow  and 


LETTER    TO    THE    EMPRESS    EUGEXIA.  335 

say,  "  That  is  Mrs.  Teba  Napoleon,  who  does  not  live  with  her 
husband."  And  some  will  say  it  is  your  fault ;  and  others  will 
say  'tis  his ;  and  all  will  tell  you  a  world  more  about  it,  than 
you  can  tell  them. 

Then,  Mrs.  Samuel  Snip  (who  has  the  next  room  to  yours, 
who  murders  the  king's  English  most  ruthlessly,  and  is  not 
quite  certain  whether  Barnum  or  Christopher  Columbus  dis 
covered  America,)  will  have  her  Paul  Pry  ear  to  the  keyhole 
of  your  door  about  every  other  minute,  (except  when  her  hus 
band  is  on  duty,)  to  find  out  if  you  are  properly  employed ; — 
and  no  matter  what  Mrs.  Snip  learns,  or  even  if  she  does  not 
learn  anything,  she  will  be  pretty  certain  to  report,  that,  in  her 
opinion,  you  are  "no  better  than  you  should  be."  If  you  dress 
well  (with  your  splendid  form  and  carriage  you  could  not  but 
seem  well-dressed)  she  will  "  wonder  how  you  got  the  means 
to  do  it " ;  prefacing  her  remark  with  the  self-evident  truth 
that,  "  to  be  sure,  it  is  none  of  her  business." 

If  you  let  your  little  Napoleon  get  out  of  your  sight  a  min 
ute,  somebody  will  have  him  by  the  pinafore  and  put  him 
through  a  catechism  about  his  mamma's  mode  of  living  and 
how  she  spends  her  time.  If  you  go  to  church,  it  will  be  "  to 
show  yourself;"  if  you  stay  at  home,  "you  are  a  publican  and 
a  sinner."  Do  what  you  will,  it  will  all  be  wrong :  if  you  do 
rtothing,  it  will  be  still  worse.  Our  gentlemen  (so  called) 
knowing  that  you  are  defenceless  and  taking  it  for  granted  that 
your  name  is  "  Barkis,"  will  all  stare  at  you ;  and  the  women 
will  dislike  and  abuse  you  just  in  proportion  as  the  opposite 


336    LETTEE  TO  THE  EMPRESS  EUGENI'A. 

sex  admire  you.  Of  course  you  will  sweep  past  them  all,  with 
that  magnificent  figure  of  yours,  and  your  regal  chin  up  in  the 
air,  quietly  attending  to  your  own  business,  and  entirely  un 
conscious  of  their  pigmy  existence. 


MUSIC   IN   THE  NATURAL   WAY. 

How  often,  when  wedged  in  a  heated  concert  room,  an 
noyed  by  the  creaking  of  myriad  fans,  and  tortured  optically. 
by  the  glare  of  gas-light,  have  I,  with  a  gipsey  longing,  wished 
that  the  four  walls  might  be  razed,  leaving  only  the  blue  sky 
over  my  head,  that  the  tide  of  music  might  unfettered  flow 
over  my  soul. 

How  often,  when  dumb  with  delight,  in  the  midst  of  some 
scene  of  surpassing  natural  beauty,  have  I  silently  echoed  the 
poet's  words : 

"  Give  me  music,  or  I  die." 

My  dream  was  all  realized  at  a  promenade  concert  at  Cas 
tle  Garden,  last  night.  Shall  I  ever  forget  it  ?  That  glorious 
expanse  of  sea,  glittering  in  the  moonbeams ;  the  little  boats 
gliding  smoothly  over  its  polished  surface ;  the  cool,  evening 
zephyr,  fanning  the  brow  wooingly  ;  the  music —  soothing  — 
thrilling  —  then  quickening  the  pulse  and  stirring  the  blood, 
like  the  sound  of  a  trumpet ;  then,  that  rare  boon,  a  compan 
ion,  who  had  the  good  taste  to  be  dumb,  and  not  disturb  my 
trance. 

There  was  one  drawback.  After  the  doxology,  I  noticed 
22b  ° 


338  MUSIC    IN    THE     NATURAL    WAY. 

some  matter-of-fact  wretches  devouring  ice  creams.  May  no 
priest  be  found  to  give  them  absolution.  I  include,  also,  in 
this  anathema,  those  ever-to-be-avoided  masculines,  who,  then 
and  there,  puffed  cigar  smoke  in  my  face,  and  the  moon's. 


FOR  LADIES  THAT  "GO  SHOPPING." 

MATRIMONY  and  the  toothache  may  be  survived,  but  of  all 
the  evils  feminity  is  heir  to,  defend  me  from  a  shopping  excur 
sion.  But,  alas !  bonnets,  shoes  and  hose  will  wear  out,  and 
shop-keepers  will  chuckle  over  the  sad  necessity  that  places  the 
unhappy  owners  within  their  dry-goods  clutches.  Felicitous 
Mrs.  Figleaf!  why  taste  that  Paradisaical  apple1? 

Some  victimised  females  frequent  the  stores  where  soiled 
and  damaged  goods  are  skillfully  announced  as  selling  at  an 
"  immense  sacrifice,"  by  their  public-spirited  and  disinterested 
owners.  Some  courageously  venture  into  more  elegant  estab 
lishments,  where  the  claim  of  the  applicant  to  notice,  is  meas 
ured  by  the  costliness  of  her  apparel,  and  where  the  clerks  poise 
their  eye-glass  at  any  plebeian  shopperess  bold  enough  to  inquire 
for  silk  under  six  dollars  a  yard.  Others,  still,  are  tortured  at 
the  counter  of  some  fussy  old  bachelor,  who  always  ties  up, 
with  distressing  deliberation,  every  parcel  he  takes  clown  for  in 
spection,  before  he  can  open  another,  and  moves  round  to  exe 
cute  your  orders  as  if  Mt.  Atlas  were  fastened  to  his  heels  ;  or 
perhaps  get  petrified  at  the  store  of  some  snap-dragon  old  maid, 
whose  victims  serve  as  escape-valves  for  long  years  of  bile,  en 
gendered  by  Cupid's  oversights.  Meanwhile,  tho  vexed  ques- 


340  LADIES    THAT    "  G  O    SHOPPING." 

tion  is  still  unsolved,  Where  can  the  penance  of  shopping  be 
performed  with  the  least  possible  wear  and  tear  of  patience  and 
prunella  ?  The  answer  seems  to  me  to  be  contained  in  six  let 
ters — "Stewart's." 

"Stewarfs?"  I  think  I  hear  some  old  lady  exclaim,  drop 
ping  her  knitting  and  peering  over  her  spectacles  ;  "  Stewart's  ! 
yes,  if  you  have  the  mines  of  California  to  back  you."  Now 
I  have  a  profound  respect  for  old  ladies,  as  I  stand  self-pledged 
to  join  that  respectable  body  on  the  advent  of  my  very  first 
gray  hair ;  still,  with  due  deference  to  their  catnip  and  penny 
royal  experience,  I  conscientiously  repeat — "  Stewarfs." 

You  may  stroll  through  his  rooms  free  to  gaze  and  admire, 
without  being  annoyed  by  an  impertinent  clerk  dogging  your 
footsteps ;  you  can  take  up  a  fabric,  and  examine  it,  without 
being  bored  by  a  statement  of  its  immense  superiority  over 
every  article  of  the  kind  in  the  market,  or  without  being  deaf 
ened  by  a  detailed  account  of  the  enormous  sums  that  the 
mushroom  aristocracy  have  considered  themselves  but  too  hap 
py  to  expend,  in  order  to  secure  a  dress  from  that  very  desira 
ble,  and  altogether  unsurpassed,  and  unsurpassable,  piece  of 
goods ! 

You  can  independently  say  that  an  article  does  not  exactly 
suit  you,  though  your  husband  may  not  stand  by  you  with  a 
drawn  sword.  You  will  encounter  no  ogling,  no  impertinent 
cross-questioning,  no  tittering  whispers,  from  the  quiet,  well- 
bred  clerks,  who  attend  to  their  own  business  and  allow  you  to 
attend  to  yours. 

Tis  true  that  you  may  see  at  Stewart's,  cobweb  laces  an  inch 


LADIES    THAT    "GO    SHOPPING."  341 

or  two  wide,  for  fifty  or  one  hundred  dollars  a  yard,  which  ma 
ny  a  brainless  butterfly  of  fashion  is  supremely  happy  in  sport- 
ing :  but  at  the  very  next  counter  you  may  suit  yourself,  or 
your  country  cousin,  to  a  sixpenny  calico,  or  a  shilling  de  laine ; 
and,  what  is  better,  be  quite  as  sure  that  her  verdant  queries 
will  be  as  respectfully  answered  as  if  liveried  Pompey  stood 
waiting  at  the  door  to  hand  her  to  her  carriage. 

You  can  go  into  the  silk  department,  where,  by  a  soft  de 
scending  light,  you  will  see  dinner  dresses  that  remind  you  of 
a  shivered  rainbow,  for  pass£  married  ladies  who  long  since 
ceased  to  celebrate  their  birth-days,  and  who  keep  their  bud 
ding  daughters  carefully  immured  in  the  nursery:  or,  at  the 
same  counter,  you  can  select  a  modest  silk  for  your  minister's 
wife,  at  six  shillings  a  yard,  tliat  will  cause  no  heart-burnings  in 
the  most  Argus-eyed  of  Paul  Pry  parishes. 

Then  if  you  patronise  those  ever-to-be-abominated  and  al- 
ways-to-be-shunned  nuisances  called  parties,  where  fools  of  both 
sexes  gather  to  criticise  their  host  and  hostess,  and  cut  up  cha 
racters  and  confectionary,  you  can  step  into  that  little  room 
from  which  day-light  is  excluded,  and  select  an  evening  dress, 
by  gas-light,  upon  the  effect  of  which  you  can,  of  course,  de 
pend,  and  to  which  artistic  arrangement  many  a  New  York 
belle  has  probably  owed  that  much  prized  possession  —  her 
"  last  conquest." 

Now,  if  you  please,  you  can  go  into  the  upholstery-room 
and  furnish  your  nursery  windows  with  a  cheap  set  of  plain 
linen  curtains ;  or  you  can  expend  a  small  fortune  in  regal  crim 
son,  or  soft-blue  damask  drapery,  for  your  drawing-room  ;  and 


342  LADIES   THAT    UG  O    S  H  O  P  P  I  N  G." 

without  troubling  yourself  to  thread  the  never-ending  streets  of 
Gotham  for  an  upholsteress,  can  have  them  made  by  competent 
persons  in  the  upper  loft  of  the  building,  who  will  also  drape 
them  faultlessly  about  your  windows,  should  you  so  desire. 

Now  you  carl  peep  into  the  cloak  room,  and  bear  away  on 
your  graceful  shoulders  a  six,  twenty,  thirty,  or  four  hundred 
dollar  cloak,  as  the  length  of  your  husband's  purse,  or  your  own 
fancy  (which  in  these  degenerate  days  amounts  to  pretty  much 
the  same  thing)  may  suggest. 

Then  there  is  the  wholesale  department,  where  you  will  see 
shawls,  hosiery,  flannels,  calicoes,  and  de  laines,  sufficient  to  stock 
all  the  nondescript  country  stores,  to  say  nothing  of  city  con 
sumption. 

Now,  if  you  are  not  weary,  you  can  descend  (under  ground) 
into  the  carpet  department,  from  whence  you  can  hear  the  in 
cessant  roll  of  full-freighted  omnibuses,  the  ceaseless  tramp  of 
myriad  restless  feet,  and  all  the  busy  train  of  out-door  life 
made  audible  in  all  the  dialects  of  Babel.  Here  you  can  see 
every  variety  of  carpet,  from  the  homespun,  unpretending 
straw,  oil  cloth,  and  Kidderminster,  to  the  gorgeous  Brussels  and 
tapestry,  (above  whose  traceried  buds  and  flowers  the  daintiest 
foot  might  well  poise  itself,  loth  to  crush,)  up  to  the  regal  Ax- 
minster,  of  Scottish  manufacture,  woven  without  seam,  and 
warranted,  in  these  days  of  late  suppers  and  tobacco  smoking, 
to  last  a  life-time. 

Emerging  from  this  subterranean  region,  you  will  ascend  into 
daylight,  and  reflecting  first  upon  all  this  immense  outlay,  and 
then  upon  the  frequent  and  devastating  conflagrations  in  New 


LADIES    THAT   "(JO    SHOPPING."  343 

York,  inquire  with  solicitude,  Are  you  insured  ?  and  regret  to 
learn  that  there  is  too  much  risk  to  effect  an  entire  insurance, 
although  Argus-eyed  watchmen  keep  up  a  night>and-day  patrol 
throughout  the  handsome  building. 


MODERN    IMPROVEMENTS. 

"MODERN  improvements?"  I  wonder  where  they  are? 
Perhaps  it  is  the  fashionable  cloaks,  that  take  leave  of  their  shiv 
ering  owners  at  the  hips ;  or  the  long  skirts,  whose  muddy 
trains  every  passing  pedestrian  pins  to  the  sidewalk ;  or  the 
Lilliputian  bonnets,  that  never  a  string  in  shop-dom  can  keep 
within  hailing  distance  of  the  head;  or  the  flowing  sleeves, 
through  which  the  winter  wind  plays  around  the  arm-pits ;  or 
the  break-neck,  high-heeled  boots,  which  some  little,  dumpy 
feminine  has  introduced  to  gratify  her  rising  ambition,  and  ren 
der  her  tall  sisters  hideous  ;  or  the  gas-lit,  furnace-heated  houses, 
in  which  the  owners'  eyes  are  extinguished,  and  their  skins 
dried  to  a  parchment ;  or,  perhaps,  it  is  the  churches,  of  such 
cathedral  dimness,  that  the  clergyman  must  have  candles  at 
noonday,  and  where  the  congregation  are  forbidden  to  express 
their  devotion  by  singing,  and  forced  to  listen  to  the  trills  and 
quavers  of  some  scientific  stage  mountebank  ;  or  perhaps  'tis 
the  brazen  irreverence  with  which  Young  America  jostles  aside 
gray -headed  Wisdom :  perhaps  the  comfortless,  forsaken  fire 
side  of  the  "  strong-minded  woman  : "  perhaps,  the  manly  gos 
sip,  whose  repetition  of  some  baseless  rumor  dims  the  bright 
eyes  of  defenceless  innocence  with  tears  of  anguish :  perhaps 


MODERN      IMPROVEMENTS.  345 

the  schools,  where  a  superficial  show  of  brilliancy  on  exhi 
bition  days,  is  considered  the  ne  plus  ultra  of  teaching  :  perhaps 
it  is  the  time-serving  clergyman,  whose  tongue  is  fettered  by  a 
monied  clique  :  perhaps,  the  lawyers  who  lie  —  under  a  mis 
take! — perhaps  it  is  the  doctor,  whom  I  saw  yesterday  at  Aunt 
Jerusha's  sick-room,  a  little  thing  with  bits  of  feet,  and  mincing 
voice,  and  lily-white  hands,  and  perfumed  moustache.  I  wanted 
to  inquire  what  ailed  Jerusha,  so  I  waited  to  see  him.  I  wanted 
to  ask  him  how  long  it  would  take  him  to  cure  her,  and  if  he 
preferred  pills  to  powders,  blisters  to  plasters,  oat-meal  to 
barley-gruel,  wine-whey  to  posset,  arrow-root  to  fariua,  and  a 
few  such  little  things,  you  know.  He  stared  at  me  over  his 
dicky,  as  if  I  had  been  an  unevangelized  kangaroo;  then  he 
sidled  up  to  Jerusha,  pryed  open  her  mouth,  and  said  "humph" 
—  in  Latin.  Then  he  crossed  his  legs,  and  rolled  up  the  whites 
of  his  eyes  at  the  ceiling,  as  if  he  expected  some  Esculapian  hand 
writing  on  the  wall  to  enlighten  him  as  to  the  seat  of  Aunt  Je 
rusha's  complaint.  Then,  he  drew  from  his  pocket  a  box  with 
a  whole  army  of  tiny  bottles ;  and  uncorking  two  of  them  he 
nipped  out  a  little  white  speck  from  each,  which  he  dissolved 
in  four  quarts  of  water,  and  told  Jerusha  "  to  take  a  drop  of 
the  water  once  in  eight  hours."  Tom  Thumb  and  Lilliput !  he 
might  as  well  have  tried  to  salt  the  Atlantic  Ocean  with  a  wid 
ower's  tear  !  He  should  be  laid  gently  on  a  lily  leaf,  and  con 
signed  to  the  first  stray  zephyr. 

Ah,  you  should  have  seen  our  good,  old-fashioned  Dr.  Jalap ; 
with  a  fist  like  a  sledge-hammer,  a  tramp  like  a  war-horse,  and 
a  laugh  that  would  puzzle  an  echo.  He  was  n't  penurious  of 


346  MODERN     IMPROVEMENTS. 

his  physic :  he  did  n't  care  a  piu  how  much  he  put  down  your 
throat  —  no,  nor  the  apothecary  either.  He  pill-ed  and  po- 
tioned,  and  emetic-ed,  and  blistered,  and  plastered,  till  you 
were  so  transparent,  that  even  John  Mitchell  (and  he's  the 
shortest-sighted  being  alive)  could  have  seen  through  you.  And 
then  he  braced  you  up  with  Iron  and  Quinine,  till  your  mus 
cles  were  like  whip-cords,  and  your  hair  in  a  bristle  of  kinks. 
He  was  human-like,  too ;  he  did  n't  stalk  in  as  if  Napoleon  and 
the  Duke  of  Wellington  were  boiled  down  to  make  his  grand 
father.  No ;  he  'd  just  as  lief  sit  down  on  a  butter-firkin  as 
on  a  velvet  lounge.  He  'd  pick  up  Aunt  Esther's  knitting- 
needles,  and  talk  to  grandpa  about  Bunker  Hill,  and  those  tee- 
totally  discomfrizzled,  bragging  British,  and  offer  grandma  a 
pinch  of  snuff,  and  trot  the  baby,  and  stroke  the  cat,  and  go  to 
the  closet  and  eat  up  the  pickles  and  doughnuts,  and  make  him 
self  useful  generally.  He  did  n't  have  to  stupefy  his  patients 
with  ether,  so  that  they  need  n't  find  out  how  clumsily  he  ope 
rated.  No ;  it  was  quite  beautiful  to  seo  him  take  a  man's 
head  between  his  knees,  and  drag  his  double  teeth  out.  He 
did  n't  write  a  prescription  for  molasses  and  water,  in  High 
Dutch :  he  did  n't  tell  you  that  you  were  booked  for  the  river 
Styx,  and  he  was  the  only  M.  D.  in  creation  who  could  annihi 
late  the  ferryman  waiting  to  row  you  over.  He  did  n't  drive 
through  the  town  with  his  horse  and  gig,  at  break-neck  speed, 
just  as  meeting  was  out,  as  if  life  and  death  were  hanging  on 
his  profitless  chariot  wheels  :  he  did  n't  stick  up  over  his  door — 
" at  home  between  nine  and  ten"  as  if  that  consecrated  hour 
were  all  he  could  bestow  upon  a  clamorous  public,  when  he 


MODERN    IMPROVEMENTS.  347 

was  angling  in  vain  for  a  patient  every  hour  in  the  twenty-four ; 
nor  did  he  give  little  boys  shillings  to  rush  into  church,  and  call 
him  out  in  the  middle  of  the  service.  No :  Dr.  Jalap  was  not 
a  "  modern  improvement." 


THE   OLD   MERCHANT   WANTS   A 
SITUATION. 

"  AN  elderly  gentleman,  formerly  a  well-known  merchant,  wishes  a  situation ;  he 
will  engage  in  any  respectable  employment  not  too  laborious."  — New  York  Daily 
Paper. 

I  DON'T  know  the  old  man.  I  never  saw  him  on  'change,  in 
a  fine  suit  of  broadcloth,  leaning  on  his  gold-headed  cane;  while 
brokers,  and  insurance  officers,  and  presidents  of  banks  raised 
their  hats  deferentially,  and  the  crowd  respectfully  made  way 
for  him.  I  never  kept  account  of  the  enormous  taxes  he  annu 
ally  paid  the  city,  or  saw  his  gallant  ships  ploughing  the  blue 
ocean  with  their  costly  freight,  to  foreign  ports.  I  never  saw  him 
in  his  luxurious  home,  taking  his  quiet  siesta,  lulled  by  the 
liquid  voice  of  his  fairy  daughter.  No  :  nor  did  I  hear  the  auc 
tioneer's  hammer  in  that  home,  nor  see  the  red  flag  floating, 
like  a  signal  of  distress,  before  the  door.  I  did  n't  read  the 
letter  that  recalled  his  only  boy  from  college,  or  see  the  hum 
bled  family,  as  they  passed,  shrinking,  over  the  threshold,  into 
poor  lodgings,  whose  landlord  coarsely  stipulated  for  "  a  week's 
rent  in  advance." 

"  Any  occupation  not  too  laborious."  How  mournfully  the 
old  man's  words  fall  upon  the  ear !  Life  to  commence  anew, 
with  the  silver  head,  and  bent  form,  and  faltering  step,  and  pal- 


THE    OLD    MERCHANT.  349 

sied  hand  of  ago  !  With  the  first  ray  of  morning  light,  that 
hoary  head  must  be  lifted  from  an  unquiet  pillow,  to  encoun 
ter  the  drenching  rain,  and  driving  sleet,  and  piercing  cold. 
No  reprieve  from  that  wearisome  ledger,  for  the  throbbing 
brow  and  dimmed  eye.  Beardless  clerks  make  a  jest  of  "  the  old 
boy  ; "  superciliously  repeating,  in  his  sensitive  ear,  their  mu 
tual  master's  orders.  With  them  he  meekly  receives  his 
weekly  pittance  ;  sighing,  as  he  counts  it  over,  to  think  of  the 
few  comforts  it  will  bring  to  the  drooping  hearts  at '  home. 
Foot-weary,  he  travels  through  the  crowded  streets  •  his  thread 
bare  coat,  and  napless  hat,  and  dejected  face,  all  unnoticed  by 
the  thriving  young  merchant,  whom  the  old  man  helped  to  his 
present  prosperous  business  position.  The  birth-days  of  his 
delicate  daughter  come  and  go,  all  unmarked  by  the  joy-be 
stowing  gift.  With  trouble  and  exposure,  sickness  comes  at 
last :  then,  the  tardy  foot,  and  careless,  professional  touch  of 
the  callous-hearted  dispensary  doctor :  then,  the  poor  man's 
hearse  stands  before  the  door ;  then  winds  unheeded  through 
busy  streets,  to  the  "Potter's  field,"  while  his  former  cotem- 
poraries  take  up  the  daily  paper,  and  sipping  their  wine,  say 
carelessly,  as  if  they  had  a  quit-claim  from  sorrow,  "Well, 
Old  Smith,  the  broken-down  millionaire,  is  dead." 

Ah,  there  are  tragedies  of  which  editors  and  printers  little 
dream,  woven  in  their  daily  advertising  sheets :  the  office  boy 
feeds  the  fire  with  many  a  tear-blotted  manuscript,  penned  by 
trembling  fingers,  all  unused  to  toil. 


A  MOVING   TALE. 

THE  Smiths  have  just  been  moving.  They  always  move 
"  for  the  last  time,"  on  the  first  of  May.  "  Horrid  custom !  " 
exclaims  Smith,  wiping  the  perspiration  from  his  brow,  and 
pulling  up  his  depressed  dickey.  "How  my  blood  curdles 
and  my  bones  ache,  at  the  thought !  "  It  was  on  Tuesday,  the 
third  of  May,  that  the  afflicting  rite  was  celebrated.  Cartmen 
—  four  of  them  —  were  engaged  the  Saturday  previous,  to 
be  on  hand  at  six  o'clock  on  Tuesday  morning,  to  transport 
the  household  goods  from  the  habitation  of '52-3  to  that  of '53-4. 
Smith  was  to  pay  them  three  dollars  each  —  twelve  dollars  in 
all.  They  would  not  come  for  a  mill  less ;  Smith  tried  them 
thoroughly. 

On  Monday,  Smith's  house  is  turned  into  a  sort  of  Bedlam, 
minus  the  beds.  They  are  tied  up,  ready  for  the  next  morning's 
Hegira ;  the  Smiths  sleeping  on  the  floor  on  Monday  night. 
Smith  can't  sleep  on  the  floor ;  he  grows  restless  ;  he  receives 
constant  reminders  from  Mrs.  Smith  to  take  his  elbow  out  of 
the  baby's  face ;  he  has  horrid  visions  and  rolls  about :  there 
fore,  he  is  not  at  all  surprised,  on  waking  at  cock-crow,  to  find 
his  head  in  the  fire-place,  and  his  hair  powdered  with  soot.  The 
occasion  of  his  waking  at  that  time,  was  a  dream  of  an  un- 


"They  met,  'twas  in  a  crowd" — 
on  the  stair?,  and  Smith 

"Thought  tli.it  Brown  would  shun  him,' 
—but  he  didn't! 


A     M  0  V  I  K  G      T  A  L  E  .  351 

pleasant  nature.  He  dreamed  that  he  had  rolled  off  the  world 
backwards,  and  lodged  in  a  thorn-bush.  Of  course,  such  a 
thing  was  slightly  improbable ;  but  how  could  Smith  be  re 
sponsible  for  a  dream  ? 

On  Tuesday  morning,  the  Smiths  are  up  with  the  dawn. 
The  household  being  mustered,  it  is  found  that  the  servant  girl, 
who  had  often  averred  that,  "  she  lived  out,  just  for  a  little  ex 
ercise,"  had  deserted  her  colors.  The  grocer  on  the  corner  po 
litely  informs  Smith,  (whom  Mrs.  S.  had  sent  on  an  errand  of 
inquiry)  that,  on  the  night  previous,  the  servant  left  with  him  a 
message  for  her  employers,  to  the  effect  that  "  she  did  n't  con 
sider  moving  the  genteel  thing,  at  all ;  and  that  a  proper  re 
gard  for  her  character  and  position  in  society,  had  induced 
her  to  get  a  situation  in  the  family  of  a  gentleman  who  owned 
the  house  he  lived  in." 

This  is  severe  :  Smith  feels  it  keenly  ;  Mrs.  Smith  leans  her 
head  against  her  husband's  vest  pattern,  and  says  "She  is 
quite  crushed,"  and  "  wonders  how  Smith  can  have  the  heart 
to  whistle.  But,  it  is  always  so,"  she  remarks.  "  Woman  is 
the  weaker  vessel,  and  man  delights  to  trample  on  her." 
Smith  indignantly  denies  this  sweeping  assertion,  and  says 
"  he  tramples  on  nothing ;  "  when  Mrs.  Smith  points  to  a  band 
box  containing  her  best  bonnet,  which  he  has  just  put  his  foot 
through.  Smith  is  silent. 

The  cartmen  were  to  be  on  the  premises  at  six  o'clock.  Six 
o'clock  comes — half-past  six  —  seven  o'clock  —  but  no  cart- 
men.  Here  is  a  dilemma !  The  successors  to  the  Smiths  are 
to  be  on  the  ground  at  eight  o'clock ;  and  being  on  the  ground, 


352  A     MOVING     TALK. 

they  will  naturally  wish  to  get  into  the  house ;  which  they 
cannot  well  do,  unless  the  Smiths  are  out  of  it. 

Smith  takes  a  survey  of  his  furniture,  with  a  feeling  of  in 
tense  disgust.  He  wishes  his  cumbrous  goods  were  reduced 
to.  the  capacity  of  a  carpet-bag,  which  he  could  pick  up  and 
walk  away  with.  The  mirrors  and  pianoforte  are  his  especial 
aversion.  The  latter  is  a  fine  instrument,  with  an  Eolian  at 
tachment.  He  wishes  it  had  a  sheriff's  attachment ;  in  fact,  he 
would  have  been  obliged  to  any  officer  who  should,  at  that 
wretched  moment,  have  sold  out  the  whole  establishment, 
at  the  most  "ruinous  sacrifice,"  ever  imagined  by  an  auction 
eer's  fertile  "  marvelousness." 

—  Half-past  seven,  and  no  cartmen  yet.  What  is  to  be 
done  ?  Ah !  here  they  come,  at  last.  Smith  is  at  a  loss  to 
know  what  excuse  they  will  make.  Verdant  Smith !  They 
make  no  excuse.  They  simply  tell  him,  with  an  air  which 
demands  his  congratulations,  that  they  "  picked  up  a  nice  job 
by  the  way,  and  stopped  to  do  it.  You  see,"  says  the  princi 
pal,  "  we  goes  in  for  all  we  can  get,  these  times,  and  there 's 
no  use  of  anybody's  grumbling.  Kase,  you  see,  if  one  don't 
want  us,  another  will ;  and  it 's  no  favor  for  anybody  to  em 
ploy  us  a  week  either  side  the  first  of  May."  The  rascal 
grins,,  as  he  says  this;  and  Smith,  perceiving  the  strength  of 
the  cartman's  position,  wisely  makes  no  reply. 

They  begin  to  load.  Just  as  they  get  fairly  at  work,  the 
Browns  (the  Smiths'  successors)  arrive,  with  an  appalling  dis 
play  of  stock.  Brown  is  a  vulgar  fellow,  who  has  suddenly 
become  rich,  and  whose  ideas  of  manliness  all  center  in  bru 


A     MOV  IN  G     TALE.  353 

tality.  He  is  furious  because  the  Smiths  are  not "  clean  gone." 
He  "  can't  wait  there,  all  day,  in  the  street."  He  orders  his 
men  to  "  carry  the  things  into  the  house,"  and  heads  the  column 
himself  with  a  costly  rocking-chair  in  his  arms.  As  Brown 
comes  up  with  his  rocking-chair,  Smith,  at  the  head  of  his  men, 
descends,  with  a  bureau,  from  the  second  floor. 

"  They  met,  'twas  In  a  crowd" — 

on  the  stairs,  and  Smith 

"  Thought  that  Brown  would  shun  him," 

—  but  he  did  n't !  The  consequence  was,  they  came  in  collis 
ion  ;  or,  rather,  Smith's  bureau  and  Brown's  rocking-chair  came 
in  collision.  Now,  said  bureau  was  an  old-fashioned,  hard 
wood  affair,  made  for  service,  while  Brown's  rocking-chair  was 
a  flimsy,  showy  fabric,  of  modern  make.  The  meeting  on  the 
stairs  occasions  some  squeezing,  and  more  stumbling,  and 
Brown  suddenly  finds  himself  and  chair  under  the  bureau,  to 
the  great  injury  of  his  person  and  his  furniture.  (Brown  has 
since  recovered,  but  the  case  of  the  rocking-chair  is  considered 
hopeless.)  This  discomfiture  incenses  the  Browns  to  a  high 
degree, and  they  determine  to  be  as  annoying  as  possible;  so 
they  persist  in  bringing  their  furniture  into  the  house,  and  up 
stairs,  as  the  Smiths  are  carrying  theirs  out  of  the  house,  and 
down  stairs.  Collisions  are,  of  course,  the  order  of  the  day'; 
but  the  Smiths  do  not  mind  this  much,  as  they  have  a  great 
advantage,  viz :  their  furniture  is  not  half  so  good  as  Browii's. 
After  a  few  smashes,  Brown  receives  light  on  this  point,  and 

orders  his  forces  to  remain  quiet,  while  the  foe  evacuates  thf 
23b 


354  A     MOVING     TALE. 

premises ;  so  the  Smiths  retire  in  peace  —  and  much  of  their 
furniture  in  pieces. 

The  four  carts  form  quite  a  respectable  procession ;  but 
there  is  no  disguising  the  fact  that  the  furniture  looks  very 
shabby  (and  whose  furniture  does  not  look  shabby,  piled  on 
carts  1)  ;  so  the  Smiths  prudently  take  a  back  street,  that  no 
one  may  accuse  them  of  owning  it.  Smith  has  to  carry  the 
baby  and  a  large  mirror,  which  Mrs.  S.  was  afraid  to  trust  to 
the  cartmen,  there  being  no  insurance  on  either.  It  being  a 
windy  day,  both  the  mirror  and  Smith's  hat  veer  to  all  points 
of  the  compass,  while  the  baby  grows  very  red  in  the  face  at 
not  being  able  to  possess  himself  of  them.  Between  the  wind, 
the  mirror,  his  hat  and  the  baby,  Smith  has  an  unpleasant 
walk  of  it. 

About  ten  o'clock,  they  arrive  at  their  new  residence,  and 
find,  to  their  horror,  that  their  predecessors  have  not  begun  to 
move.  They  inquire  the  reason.  The  feminine  head  of  the 
family  informs  them,  with  tears  in  her  eyes,  that  her  husband, 
(Mr.  Jonas  Jenkins,)  has  been  sick  in  Washington  for  five 
weeks ;  that,  in  consequence  of  his  affliction,  they  have  not 
been  able  to  provide  a  new  tenement ;  that  she  is  quite  unwell, 
and  that  one  of  her  children  (she  has  six)  is  ill,  also ;  that  she 
don't  know  what  is  to  become  of  them,  &c.,  &c.  Smith  sets 
his  hat  on  the  back  of  his  head,  gives  a  faint  tug  at  his  neck-tie 
ard  confesses  himself — quenched !  His  furniture  looks  more 
odious  every  minute.  He  once  felt  much  pride  in  it,  but  he 
feels  none  now :  he  feels  only  disgust.  The  cartmen  begin  to 
growl  out  that  they  "  can't  stand  here  all  day,"  and  request  to 


A     MOVING     TALE.  355 

be  informed  "  where  we  shall  drop  the  big  traps."  Hereupon, 
Smith  ventures,  with  a  ghastly  attempt  at  a  smile,  to  inquire 
of  Mrs.  Jenkins  why  she  didn't  tell  him,  when  he  called,  on 
Saturday,  of  her  inability  to  procure  a  house  ?  To  which  that 
lady  innocently  replies  that  she  did  n't  wish  to  give  him  any 
unnecessary  trouble !  "  which  reply  satisfies  him  as  to  Mrs.  Jen- 
kin's  claim  to  force  of  intellect. 

At  this  juncture,  Smith  falls  into  a  profound  reverie.  He 
thinks  that,  after  all,  Fourier  is  right — "  that  the  Solidarity  of 
the  human  race  is  an  entity ; "  that  "  nobody  can  be  happy, 
until  everybody  is  happy."  He  agrees  with  the  great  philoso 
pher,  that  the  "  series  distributes  the  harmonies."  He  realizes 
that  "  society  is  organized  (or,  rather,  disorganized)  on  a  wrong 
basis;"  that  it  is  in  an  "  amorphous  condition,"  whereas  it  should 
be  "  crystalized."  With  our  celebrated  "  down  east "  poet, 
Ethan  Spike,  Esq.,  he  begins  to  think  that, 

"The  etarnal  bung  is  loose," 

and  that,  unless  it  be  soon  tightened,  there  is  danger  that 

"  All  nater  -will  bo  spilt 

He  comes  to  the  conclusion,  finally,  that  "  something  must  be 
•  done,"  and  that  speedily,  to  "  secure  a  home  fer  every  family." 
At  this  point,  he  is  aroused  by  his  tormenters,  the  cartmen, 
who  inform  him  that  they  are  in  a  "  Barkis "  state  of  mind, 
(willin')  to  receive  their  twelve  dollars.     Smith  pays  the  money, 
and  turns  to  examine  the  premises.     He  finds  that  Mrs.  Jen 
kins  has  packed  all  her  tilings  in  the  back  basement  and  the 
second-floor  sitting-room.     Poor  thing !  she  has  done  her  best, 


356  A    MOVING     TALE. 

after  all.  She  is  in  ill  health  ;  her  husband  is  sick,  and  away 
from  home ;  and  her  children  are  not  well.  God  pity  the  un 
fortunate  who  live  in  cities,  especially  in  the  "  moving  season." 
But  Smith  is  a  kind-hearted  man.  With  a  few  exceptions,  the 
Smiths  are  a  kind-hearted  race  —  and  that's  probably  the  rea 
son  they  are  so  numerous. 

Smith  puts  on  a  cheerful  countenance,  and  busies  himself  in 
arrranging  his  furniture.  Mrs.  Smith,  kind  soul,  forgets  the 
destruction  of  her  bandbox  and  bonnet,  and  cares  not  how  long 
or  how  loud  Smith  whistles.  Suddenly  the  prospect  bright 
ens  !  Mrs.  Jenkins'  brother-in-law  appears,  and  announces  that 
he  has  found  rooms  for  her,  a  little  higher  up  town.  Cartmen 
are  soon  at  the  door,  and  the  Jenkinses  are  on  their  "  winding 
way  "  to  their  new  residence. 

—  But  the  Smiths'  troubles  are  not  yet  over.  The  painters, 
who  were  to  have  had  the  house  all  painted  the  day  before, 
have  done  nothing  but  leave  their  paint-pots  in  the  hall,  and  a 
little  Smithling,  being  of  an  investigating  turn  of  mind,  and 
hungry,  withal,  attempts  to  make  a  late  breakfast  off  the  con 
tents  of  one  of  them.  He  succeeds  in  eating  enough  to  dis 
gust  him  with  his  bill  of  fare,  and  frighten  his  mamma  into 
hysterics.  A  doctor  is  sent  for :  he  soon  arrives,  and,  after 
attending  to  the  mother,  gives  the  young  adventurer  a  facetious 
chuck  under  the  chin,  and  pronounces  him  perfectly  safe.  The 
parents  are  greatly  relieved,  for  Willy  is  a  pet ;  and  they  con 
fidently  believe  him  destined  to  be  President  of  the  United 
States,  if  they  can  only  keep  paint-pots  out  of  his  way. 

It  takes  the  Smiths  some  ten  days  to  get  "  to  rights."     The 


A     MOVING     TALE.  357 

particulars  of  their  further  annoyances  —  how  the  carpets 
did  n't  fit ;  how  the  cartmen  "  lost  the  pieces ;  "  how  the  sofas 
could  n't  be  made  to  look  natural ;  how  the  pianoforte  was  too 
large  to  stand  behind  the  parlor  door,  and  too  small  to  stand 
between  the  front  windows ;  how  the  ceiling  was  too  low,  and  the 
book-case  too  high ;  how  abottle  of  indelible  ink  got  into  the  bureau 
by  mistake  and  "  marked  "  all  Mrs.  Smith's  best  dresses  —  I 
forbear  to  inflict  on  the  reader.  Suffice  it  to  say,  the  Smiths 
are  in  "  a  settled  state.;  "  although  their  apartments  give  signs 
of  the  recent  manifestation  of  a  strong  disturbing  force  —  re 
minding  one,  somewhat,  of  a  "  settlement  "  slowly  recovering 
from  the  visitation  of  an  earthquake.  Still,  they  are  thankful 
for  present  peace,  and  are  determined,  positively,  not  to  move 
again  —  until  next  May. 


THIS    SIDE    AND    THAT. 

I  AM  weary  of  this  hollow  show  and  glitter  —  weary  of  fash 
ion's  stereotyped  lay-figures  —  weary  of  smirking  fops  and 
brainless  belles,  exchanging  their  small  coin  of  flattery  and  their 
endless  genuflexions :  let  us  go  out  of  Broadway —  somewhere, 
anywhere.  Turn  round  the  wheel,  Dame  Fortune,  and  show 
up  the  other  side. 

"  The  Tombs !  "  —  we  never  thought  to  be  there !  neverthe 
less,  we  are  not  to  be  frightened  by  a  grated  door  or  a  stone 
wall,  so  we  pass  in  ;  leaving  behind  the  soft  wind  of  this  Indian 
summer  day,  to  lift  the  autumn  leaves  as  gently  as  does  a 
loving  nurse  her  drooping  child. 

We  gaze  into  the  narrow  cells,  and  draw  a  long  breath. 
Poor  creatures,  tempted  and  tried.  How  many  to  whom  the 
world  now  pays  its  homage,  who  sit  in  high  places,  should  be 
in  their  stead  1  God  knoweth.  See  them,  with  their  pale  faces 
pressed  up  against  the  grated  windows,  or  pacing  up  and  down 
their  stone  floors,  like  chained  beasts.  There  is  a  little  boy 
not  more  than  ten  years  old ;  what  has  he  done  1 

"  Stolen  a  pair  of  shoes !" 

Poor  child !  he  never  heard  of  "  Swartout."  How  should 
he  know  that  he  was  put  in  there  not  for  stealing,  but  for  do 
ing  it  on  so  small  a  scale  ? 


THIS      SIDE      AND      THAT.  359 

Hist !  Do  you  see  that  figure  seated  in  the  farther  corner 
of  that  cell,  with  his  hands  crossed  on  his  knees  1  His  whole 
air  and  dress  are  those  of  a  gentleman.  How  came  such  a  man 
as  that  here? 

"  For  murder  ? "  How  sad  !  Ah !  somewhere  in  the  length 
and  breadth  of  the  land,  a  mother's  heart  is  aching  because  she 
spared  the  rod  to  spoil  the  child. 

There  is  a  coffin,  untenanted  as  yet,  but  kept  on  hand ;  for 
Death  laughs  at  bolts  and  fetters,  and  many  a  poor  wretch  is 
borne  struggling  within  these  gloomy  walls,  only  to  be  carried 
to  his  last  home,  while  none  but  God  may  ever  know  at  whose 
fireside  stands  his  vacant  chair. 

And  here  is  a  woman's  cell.  -There  are  two  or  three  faded 
dresses  hanging  against  the  walls,  and  a  bonnet,  for  which  she 
has  little  use.  Her  friends  have  brought  her  some  bits  of  car 
peting,  which  she  has  spread  over  the  stone  floor,  with  her 
womanly  love  of  order,  (poor  thing.)  to  make  the  place  look 
home-like.  And  there  is  a  crucifix  in  the  corner.  See,  she 
kneels  before  it !  May  the  Holy  Virgin's  blessed  Son,  who 
said  to  the  sinning  one,  "Neither  do  I  condemn  thee,"  send  into 
her  stricken  heart  the  balm  of  holy  peace. 

Who  is  that  1  No !  it  cannot  be  —  but,  yes,  it  is  he  —  and 
what  a  wreck  !  See,  he  shrinks  away,  and  a  bright  flush  chases 
the  marble  paleness  from  his  cheek.  God  bless  me!  That 

R ,  should  come  to  this !  Still,  Intemperance,  with  her 

thousand  voices,  crieth  ''  Give !  give ! :)  and  still,  alas !  it  is  the 
gifted,  and  generous,  and  warm-hearted,  who  oftenest  answer 
the  summons. 


360  THIS     SIDE      AND     THAT. 

More  cells?  —  but  there  is  no  bed  in  them;  only  a  wooden 
platform,  raised  over  the  stone  floor.  It  is  for  gutter  drunk 
ards —  too  foul,  too  loathsome  to  be  placed  upon  a  bed  — 
turned  in  here  like  swine,  to  wallow  in  the  same  slough.  Oh, 
how  few,  who,  festively  sipping  the  rosy  wine,  say  "  my  moun 
tain  stands  strong,"  e'er  dream  of  such  an  end  as  this. 

Look  there  !  tread  softly :  angels  are  near  us.  Through  the 
grated  window  the  light  streams  faintly  upon  a  little  pallet, 
where,  sweet  as  a  dream  of  heaven,  lies  a  sleeping  babe !  Over 
its  cherub  face  a  smile  is  flitting.  The  cell  has  no  other  occu 
pant  ;  angels  only  watch  the  slumbers  of  the  prison-cradled. 
The  place  is  holy.  I  stoop  to  kiss  its  forehead.  From  the 
crowd  of  women  pacing  up  and  down  the  guarded  gallery,  one 
glides  gently  to  my  side,  saying,  half  proudly,  half  sadly,  "Tis 
my  babe." 

"  It  is  so  sweet,  and  pure,  and  holy,"  said  I. 

The  mother's  lip  quivered;  wiping  away  a  tear  with  her 
apron,  she  said,  in  a  choking  voice : 

"  Ah,  it  is  little  the  likes  of  you,  ma'am,  know  how  hard  it 
is  for  us  to  get  the  honest  bread  !  " 

God  be  thanked,  thought  I,  that  there  is  one  who  "  judgeth 
not  as  man  judgeth ;  "  who  holdeth  evenly  the  scales  of  justice ; 
who  weigheth  against  our  sins  the  whirlpool  of  our  temptations, 
who  forgetteth  never  the  countless  struggles  for  the  victory,  ere 
the  desponding,  weary  heart  shuts  out  the  light  of  Heaven. 


MRS.  ZEBEDEE  SMITH'S  PHILOSOPHY. 

DEAR  me  !  how  expensive  it  is  to  be  poor.  Every  time  I 
go  out,  my  best  bib  and  tucker  has  to  go  on.  If  Zebedee  were 
worth  a  cool  million,  I  might  wear  a  coal-hod  on  my  head,  if  I 
chose,  with  perfect  impunity.  There  was  that  old  nabob's  wife 
at  the  lecture,  the  other  night,  in  a  dress  that  might  have  been 
made  for  Noah's  great  grandmother.  She  can  afford  it !  Now, 
if  it  rains  knives  and  forks,  I  must  sport  a  ten  dollar  hat,  a  forty 
dollar  dress,  and  a  hundred  dollar  shawl.  If  I  go  to  a  concert, 
I  must  take  the  highest  priced  seat,  and  ride  there  and  back, 
just  to  let  "  Tom,  Dick  and  Harry "  see  that  I  can  afford  it. 
Then,  we  must  hire  the  most  expensive  pew  in  the  broad-aisle 
of  a  tip-top  church,  and  give  orders  to  the  sexton  not  to  admit 
any  strangers  into  it  who  look  snobbish.  Then  my  little  chil 
dren,  Napoleon  Bonaparte  and  Donna  Maria  Smith,  can't  go 
to  a  public  school,  because,  you  know,  we  should  n't  have  to 
pay  anything. 

Then,  if  I  go  shopping,  to  buy  a  paper  of  needles,  I  have  to 
get  a  little  chap  to  bring  them  home,  because  it  would  n't  an 
swer  for  me  to  be  seen  carrying  a  bundle  through  the  streets. 
We  have  to  keep  three  servants,  where  one  might  do;  and 
Zebedee's  coats  have  to  be  sent  to  the  tailor  when  they  need  a 
button  sewed  on,  for  the  look  of  the  thing. 


362          MRS.     ZEBEDEE     SMITH '  S     PHILOSOPHY. 

Then,  if  I  go  to  the  sea-shore,  in  summer,  I  can't  take  my 
comfort,  as  rich  people  do,  in  gingham  dresses,  loose  shoes  and 
cambric  sun-bonnets.  No !  I  have  to  be  done  up  by  ten 
o'clock  in  a  Swiss-muslin  dress,  and  a  French  cap ;  and  my 
Napoleon  Bonaparte  and  Donna  Maria  can't  go  off  the  piazza, 
because  the  big  rocks  and  little  pebbles  cut  their  toes  so  badly 
through  their  patent  kid  slippers. 

Then,  if  Zebedee  goes  a  fishing,  he  dare  not  put  on  a 
linen  coat,  for  the  price  of  his  reputation.  No,  indeed  !  Why, 
he  never  goes  to  the  barn-yard  without  drawing  on  his  white 
kids.  Then  he  orders  the  most  ruinous  wines  at  dinner,  and 
fees  those  white  jackets,  till  his  purse  is  as  empty  as  an  egg 
shell.  I  declare,  it  is  abominably  expensive.  I  don't  believe 
rich  people  have  the  least  idea  how  much  it  costs  poor  people 
to  live ' 


OPENING  OF  THE  CRYSTAL  PALACE. 

SUCH  a  crowd,  such  a  rush,  such  a  confusion  I  never  expect 
to  see  again.  Equestrians  and  pedestrians;  omnibuses  and 
carriages ;  soldiers,  civilians  and  uncivil-ions ;  carts  and  curri 
cles ;  city  exquisites,  and  country  nondescripts ;  men  on  the 
run ;  women  tiptoe-ing,  with  all  sails  spread ;  papas  in  a  put 
ter  ;  fat  men  sweltering ;  lean  men,  with  tempers  as  sharp  as 
their  bones,  ruthlessly  pushing  through  the  crowd ;  musicians 
perspiring  in  tuneful  agony ;  thermometer  evidently  on  a  spree ; 
shirt-collars  prostrate ;  dust  everywhere ;  police  nowhere ;  ev 
erybody  in  somebody's  way ;  —  whizz  —  buzz  —  rattle  —  bang 

—  crash  —  smash ;  "  Oh  dear  !  where's  Pa  1 "  —  "  Sarah  Ma 
ria,  take  care  of  your  flounces."  —  "  Get  out  of  the  way,  can't 
you  ?  "  •  —  "  Take  your  cane  out  of  my  eye,  will  you  1 "  —  "  Mr. 
Jones,  just  see  the  way  that  baby's  best  bonnet  is  jammed ! " 

—  "  Hurry  !  "  —  "I  can't  hurry  ;  somebody  has  trod  on  my 
skirt,  and  burst  off  the  hooks  ;  so  much  for  not  letting  me  wear 
Bloomers  !     What  a  figure  I  cut,  to  appear  before  the  President, 
and  no  chance  to  apologize,  Mr.  Jones  ! " 

—  Well ;  it 's  eleven  o'clock,  and  after  several  abortive  at 
tempts,  we  succeed  in  arresting  an  omnibus,  labelled  "  for  the 
Hippodrome  and  Crystal  Palace."  Away  we  go  —  dashing 


364        OPENING  OF  CRYSTAL  PALACE. 

through  the  crowd,  regardless  of  limbs,  vehicular  or  human. 
Broadway  is  lined,  on  either  side,  with  a  dense  throng  of 
questionable  looking  expectants,  waiting  "  to  see  the  proces 
sion."  Short  people  are  at  a  discount ;  no  chance  for  the  poor 
wretches,  strain  and  tiptoe  it  as  they  will.  One  tall  man.  who 
evidently  knew  the  worth  of  his  inches,  seemed  to  think  him 
self  too  valuable  to  be  let  out  all  at  once  ;  so,  he  elevated  him 
self,  jack-screw  fashion,  letting  out  one  link  of  his  vertebral  col 
umn  after  another,  until  he  towered  above  his  neighbors  like  a 
pine  tree  among  scrub  oaks.  What  altitude  he  finally  reached, 
I  am  unable  to  say,  as  he  was  still  on  his  way  up  (like  Jack's 
bean-stalk)  when  our  omnibus  passed  him. 

"  Everything  comes  in  use  once  in  seven  years,"  says  the  old 
proverb.  I  had  often  wondered  of  what  earthly  use  could  be 
the  tottering  brick-piles,  which  disfigure  every  block  in  Broad 
way.  To-day,  I  was  enlightened ;  they  served  admirably  as 
points  of  observation  for  the  more  adventurous  spectators,  and 
each  pile  was  covered  with  eager  gazers.  The  windows  over 
looking  Broadway  were  all  filled  with  neatly  dressed  ladies,  and 
as  the  eye  swept  through  this  magnificent  thoroughfare,  the  rush 
ing  vehicles,  the  swaying,  motley  multitudes,  the  gaily  dressed 
ladies,  the  waving  flags  and  banners  which  floated  over  the  more 
public  and  prominent  edifices,  presented  an  ever  varying  pano 
rama,  that  was  far  from  being  the  least  attractive  and  impres 
sive  feature  of  the  day.  I  have  often  thought  when  the  people 
come  out  "  to  see  a  sight,"  that  they  themselves  are  far  more 
imposing  than  what  they  came  to  see. 

Ou  entering  the  Palace,  we  (my  companion  and  I)  found 


OPENING  OF  CRYSTAL  PALACE.       365 

that  all  the  most  eligible  seats  were  already  occupied,  and  that 
what  were  left  were  reserved  for  some  man  of  straw  and  his 
wife.  It  was  no  use  to  show  one's  ticket.  "  You  must  n't  sit 
here!"  —  "You  mustn't  sit  there!"  —  "You  can't  stand  in 
that  place!" — "You  can't  go  there!" — "You  can't  come 
here!  " — and  so  the  throng  went  forlornly  about  and  around — 
old  men  and  maidens — heads  of  families — clergymen — ele 
gant  ladies — all  sorts  of  people — seeking  places  whereon  they 
might  rest,  and  finding  none.  We  finally  resolved  on  action, 
seized  a  couple  of  boxes  of  workmen's  tools,  emptied  the  con 
tents  on  the  floor,  and  converted  the  boxes  into  comfortable 
seats,  in  the  most  commanding  position  in  the  eastern  gallery, 
notwithstanding  the  impertinent  expostulations  of  the  resetted 
officers. 

Above  us  was  the  lofty  stained  dome,  a  most  imposing  fea 
ture  ;  —  flags  of  all  nations  waved  from  the  latticed  balconies ; 
beneath,  the  jeweled  arms  of  ladies  fair  gleamed  and  flashed 
in  the  sunlight.  Directly  below  us  was  Marochetti's  equestrian 
statue  of  Washington,  of  colossal  proportions.  Years  ago,  deai 
general,  you  rode  into  my  young  affections  on  that  very  horse, 
as  represented  on  a  ninepenny  printed  cotton  handkerchief,  given 
me  as  a  "  reward  of  merit"  for  correctly  "  declining  to  love" — 
(I  wish  I  had  always  declined  it ! )  In  the  immediate  neighbor 
hood,  our  eye  rested  on  a  gigantic  statue  of  Webster.  There 
were  his  features,  certainly,  all  correct,  by  line  and  plummet ; 
but  where  's  the  expression  ?  It  was  soulless  and  corpse-like 
—  it  failed  to  magnetize  me. 

An  hour  has  passed  ;  our  eyes  are  weaiy  with  gazing ;  still, 


366      OPENING  OF  CRYSTAL  PALACE, 

no  President.  The  singers  have  taken  their  places — the  organ 
lias  emitted  one  or  two  premonitory  subterranean  grumbles,  and 
the  platform  is  beginning  to  fill  with  lesser  dignitaries.  The 
richly-cushioned  Presidential  chair,  has  been  wheeled  about 
in  the  most  inviting  locality  ;  a  huge  bouquet  is  placed  under 
it  by  way  of  bait,  but  still  the  President  does  n't  nibble ! 
So  we  bide  our  time  with  what  patience  we  may — though  the 
thought  of  a  glass  of  ice- water,  or  a  cake,  occasionally  quenches 
our  patience  and  patriotism. 

Another  hour  has  passed  !  Even  feminine  curiosity  cannot 
exist  much  longer  on  such  unsubstantial  aliment  as  pontifical 
robes  and  empty  glitter.  My  companion  is  certainly  a  wizard ! 
He  has  conjured  up  some  ice  cream  and  cake: — now  I  shall 
have  strength  to  cheer  the  President.  Here  he  comes,  God 
bless  him !  You  won't  see  a  sight  like  that  out  of  America. 
The  representative  of  a  mighty  nation — one  of  the  mightiest 
on  earth — receiving  the  homage  of  expectant  thousands,  stand 
ing  without  "  star  "  or  "  order,"  or  insignia  of  power,  other  than 
that  with  which  the  Almighty  has  stamped  him.  No  "  body 
guard,"  no  hedging  him  in  from  the  people.  It  is  sublime  ! 

— Now  the  Bishop  reads  an  eloquent  prayer  ;  then  follows 
an  ode,  sung  to  the  time-honored  tune  of  Old  Hundred,  echo 
ing  from  hundreds  of  voices,  through  those  deep  naves,  with 
such  thrilling  majesty  that  you  feel  as  if  wings  were  growing 
from  out  your  shoulders,  and  you  must  soar ;  and  suggesting 
the  song  of  the  redeemed,  sung  by  thousands  and  tens  of  thou 
sands,  before  the  great  White  Throne. 

Now  the  speeches  commence — but  as  1  see  a  whole  army 


OPENING  OF  CRYSTAL  PALACE.      367 

of  reporters,  down  below,  I  shall  use  their  ears  instead  of  my 
own,  and  make  my  escape  while  an  omnibus  is  to  be  had. 
Some  day,  when  the  President  is  not  present  to  eclipse  them,  I 
shall  return  and  examine  all  the  chef  de'oeuvres  of  art  here 
collected. 

—  Stay  !  here  's  a  pretty  conceit  I  must  look  at,  as  we  pass 
along  out — a  mock  garden  of  moss  and  flowers,  about  the  size 
of  a  lady's  work  table,  from  the  center  of  which  plays  a  foun 
tain  of  eau  de  cologne,  beneath  whose  drops  any  lady  can  per 
fume  her  kerchief  en  2)assant,  a  dainty  invention  for  a  boudoir. 
Need  I  say  its  birth-place  is  Paris. 

There  's  the  statue  of  the  Amazonian  Queen,  startled  by  the 
sudden  spring  of  a  tiger  at  her  horse's  throat.  Hartshorn  and 
smelling  salts,  it 's  alive  ! — no ;  it  is  lifeless  bronze,  but  so  full 
of  vitality  and  expression,  it  makes  me  shiver  to  look  at  it. 

Now  my  eye  is  arrested  by  an  imposing  group  of  Thor- 
walsden,  "  Christ  and  his  Apostles."  It  is  not  my  Christ.  It  is 
not  He  who  said,  "  Suffer  little  children  to  come  unto  me."  It 
is  not  He  who  said  to  the  weeping  Magdalen,  "  Neither  do  I 
condemn  thee."  It  is  not  He  who  raised  for  the  meek  Mary, 
the  dead  Lazarus.  It  is  not  He  who,  dying,  cried,  "  Father, 
forgive  them ;  they  know  not  what  they  do."  It  is  a  form, 
stern,  unbending,  forbidding.  My  heart  refuses  its  allegiance. 

But  I  fear  I  am  wearying  the  reader ;  so,  let  me  close  by 
saying,  that  what  astonished  me  more  than  anything  else,  was 
the  appearance  of  four  of  the  most  consummate  Knaves  in  the 
world.  They  occupied  conspicuous  positions  during  the  public 
exercises,  and  in  fact,  all  the  time  I  was  there.  Indeed,  I  am 


368       OPKNING  OF  CRYSTAL  PALACE. 

informed  that  they  have  been  in  regular  attendance  ever  since 
the  Palace  was  opened,  notwithstanding  they  are  well  known, 
not  only  to  the  police,  but  to  the  officers  of  the  exhibition.  It 
is  even  whispered  that  the  latter  named  gentlemen  connive  at 
their  attendance,  unblushingly  bestow  many  attentions  upon 
them,  and  will,  undoubtedly,  permit  them  to  be  present  during 
the  entire  exhibition.  That  the  public  may  know  and  recog 
nize  them,  I  will  give  their  names  :  they  are  the  North  Nave, 
the  South  Nave,  the  East  Nave,  and  the  West  Nave ! 


A    LANCE    COUCHED    FOR    THE 
CHILDREN. 

You  have  a  pretty,  attractive  child ;  she  is  warm-hearted  and 
affectionate,  but  vivacious  and  full  of  life.  With  judicious  man 
agement,  and  a  firm,  steady  rein,  she  is  a  very  lovable  one. 
You  take  her  with  you  on  a  visit,  or  to  make  a  call.  You  are 
busy,  talking  with  the  friend  you  went  to  see.  A  gentleman 
comes  in  and  throws  himself  indolently  on  the  sofa.  His  eye 
falls  upon  little  Kitty.  He  is  just  in  the  mood  to  be  amused, 
and  makes  up  his  mind  to  banter  her  a  little,  for  the  sake  of 
drawing  her  out.  So  he  says  — 

"  Jemima,  dear  —  come  here !  " 

The  child  blushes,  and  regards  him  as  if  uncertain  whether 
he  intended  to  address  her.  He  repeats  his  request,  with  a 
laugh.  She  replies,  "  my  name  is  Kitty,  not  Jemima,"  which 
her  tormentor  contradicts.  Kitty  looks  puzzled,  (just  as  he  in 
tended  she  should,)  but  it  is  only  for  a  moment.  She  sees  he 
is  quizzing  her.  Well,  Miss  Kitty  likes  a  frolic,  if  that  is  what 
he  wants  ;  so  she  gives  him  a  pert  answer  —  he  laughs  uproar 
iously,  and  rattles  fun  round  her  little  ears  like  a  hail  storm  ; 
Kitty  has  plenty  of  answers  ready  for  him,  and  he  enjoys  the 
sport  amazingly. 

By-and-by,  he  gets  weary,  and  says,  —  "  There  —  run  away 
24b 


370  A    LANCE    COUCIIED    FOR    CHILDREN. 

now,  I  'm  going  to  read  the  newspaper ; "  but  Kitty  is  wide 
awake,  and  has  no  idea  of  being  cut  short  in  that  summary 
way ;  so  she  continues  her  Lilliputian  attacks,  till  finally  he  gets 
up  and  beats  a  despairing  retreat,  muttering,  "  what  a  very  dis- 
agreeable  child." 

Mamma  sees  it  all  from  a  distance ;  she  does  not  interfere 
—  no  —  for  she  believes  in  "Children's  Eights."  Kitty  was 
quiet,  well  behaved  and  respectful  —  till  the  visitor  undertook 
to  quiz,  and  tease  her,  for  his  own  amusement.  He  wanted  a 
frolic  —  and  he  has  had  it :  they  who  play  with  children  must 
take  children's  play. 


A   CHAPTER    ON    HOUSEKEEPING. 

I  NEVER  could  see  the  reason  why  your  smart  housekeepers 
must,  of  necessity,  be  Xantippes.  I  once  had  the  misfortune  to 
be  domesticated  during  the  summer  months  with  one  of  this 
genus. 

I  should  like  to  have  seen  the  adventurous  spider  that  would 
have  dared  to  ply  his  cunning  trade  in  Mrs.  Carrot's  premises ! 
Nobody  was  allowed  to  sleep  a  wink  after  daylight,  beneath 
her  roof.  Even  her  old  rooster  crowed  one  hour  earlier  than 
any  of  her  neighbors'.  "  Go  ahead,"  was  written  on  every 
broomstick  in  the  establishment. 

She  gave  her  husband  his  breakfast,  buttoned  up  his  over 
coat,  and  put  him  out  of  the  front  door,  with  his  face  in  the  di 
rection  of  the  store,  in  less  time  than  I've  taken  to  tell  it. 
Then  she  snatched  up  the  six  little  Carrots ;  scrubbed  their 
faces,  up  and  down,  without  regard  to  feelings  or  noses,  till 
they  shone  like  a  row  of  milk  pans. 

"  Clear  the  track'Vas  her  motto,  washing  and  ironing  days. 
She  never  drew  a  long  breath  till  the  wash-tubs  were  turned 
bottom  upwards  again,  and  every  article  of  wearing  apparel 
sprinkled,  folded,  ironed,  and  replaced  on  the  backs  of  their 
respective  owners.  It  gave  me  a  stitch  in  the  side  to  look  at 
her! 


372  A   CHAPTER     ON     HOUSEKEEPING. 

As  to  her  "  cleaning  days,"  I  never  had  courage  to  witness 
one.  I  used  to  lie  under  an  apple  tree  in  the  orchard,  till  she 
was  through.  A  whole  platoon  of  soldiers  would  n't  have 
frightened  me  so  much  as  that  virago  and  her  mop. 

You  should  have  seen  her  in  her  glory  on  "  baking  days ; " 
her  sleeves  rolled  up  to  her  arm-pits,  and  a  long,  check  apron 
swathed  around  her  bolster-like  figure.  The  great  oven  glow 
ing,  blazing,  and  sparkling,  in  a  manner  very  suggestive,  to  a 
lazy  sinner,  like  myself.  The  interminable  rows  of  greased  pie- 
plates  ;  the  pans  of  rough  and  ready  gingerbread ;  the  pots  of 
pork  and  beans,  in  an  edifying  state  of  progression ;  and  the 
immense  embryo  loaves  of  brown  and  wheaten  bread.  To  my 
innocent  inquiry,  whether  she  thought  the  latter  would  "  rise," 
she  set  her  skinny  arms  akimbo,  marched  up  within  kissing 
distance  of  my  face,  cocked  her  head  on  one  side,  and  asked  if 
I  thought  she  looked  like  a  woman  to  be  trifled  with  by  a  loaf 
of  bread !  "  The  way  I  settled  down  into  my  slippers,  with 
out  a  reply,  probably  convinced  her  that  I  was  no  longer  skep 
tical  on  that  point. 

Saturday  evening  she  employed  in  winding  up  everything 
that  was  unwound  in  the  house  —  the  old  entry  clock  included. 
From  that  time  till  Monday  morning,  she  devoted  to  her  hus 
band  and  Sabbatical  exercises.  All  I  have  to  say  is,  it  is  to  be 
hoped  she  carried  some  of  the  fervor  of  her  secular  employ 
ments  into  those  halcyon  hours. 


BARNUM'S   MUSEUM. 

IT  is  possible  that  every  stranger  may  suppose,  as  I  did,  on 
first  approaching  Barnum's  Museum,  that  the  greater  part  of 
its  curiosities  are  on  the  outside,  and  have  some  fears  that  its 
internal  will  not  equal  its  external  appearance.  But,  after  cross 
ing  the  threshold,  he  will  soon  discover  his  mistake.  The  first 
idea  suggested  will  perhaps  be  that  the  view,  from  the  windows, 
of  the  motley,  moving  throng  in  Broadway  —  the  rattling, 
thundering  carts,  carriages  and  omnibuses  —  the  confluence  of 
the  vehicular  and  human  tides  which,  from  so  many  quarters, 
come  pouring  past  the  museum  —  is,  (to  adopt  the  language  of 
advertisements,)  "  worth  double  the  price  of  admission." 

The  visitor's  attention  will  unquestionably  be  next  arrested 
by  the  "  Bearded  Lady  of  Switzerland  "  —  one  of  the  most 
curious  curiosities  ever  presented.  A  card,  in  pleasant  juxta 
position  to  the  "  lady,"  conveys  the  gratifying  intelligence  that, 
"  Visitors  are  allowed  to  touch  the  beard."  Not  a  man  in  the 
throng  lifts  an  investigating  finger !  Your  penetration,  Madame 
Clofullia,  does  you  infinite  credit.  You  knew  well  enough  that 
your  permission  would  be  as  good  as  a  handcuff  to  every  pair 
of  masculine  wrists  in  the  company.  For  my  own  part,  I 
should  no  more  meddlo  with  your  board,  thau  with  Mons.  Oo 


374  BARNUM'S    MUSEUM. 

fullia's.  I  see  no  feminity  in  it.  Its  shoe-brush  aspect  puts 
me  on  my  decorum.  I  am  glad  you  raised  it,  however,  just  to 
show  Barnum  that  there  is  something  "  new  under  the  sun," 
and  to  convince  men  in  general  that  a  woman  can  accomplish 
about  anything  she  undertakes. 

I  have  not  come  to  New  York  to  stifle  my  inquisitiveness. 
How  did  you  raise  that  beard  ]  Who  shaves  first  in  the  morn 
ing  ?  you,  or  your  husband  ]  Do  you  use  a  Woman's  Rights 
razor  1  Which  of  you  does  the  strap-ping  1  How  does  your 
baby  know  you  from  its  father  ]  What  do  you  think  of  us, 
smooth-faced  sisters  1  Do  you  (between  you  and  me)  prefer 
to  patronize  dress-makers,  or  tailors  ]  Do  you  sing  tenor,  or 
alto  1  Are  you  master,  or  mistress  of  your  husband's  affec 
tions  ]  —  Well,  at  all  events,  it  has  been  something  in  your  neu 
tral  pocket  to  have  "  tarried  at  Jericho  till  your  beard  was 
grown." 

—  What  have  we  here  1  Canova's  Venus.  She  is  exqui 
sitely  beautiful,  standing  there,  in  her  sculptured  graces ;  but 
where 's  the  Apollo  1  Ah,  here  's  a  sleeping  Cupid,  which  is 
better.  Mischievous  little  imp  !  I  'm  off  before  you  wake ! — 
Come  we  now  to  a  petrifaction  of  a  horse  and  his  rider,  crushed 
in  the  prehensile  embrace  of  a  monstrous  serpent,  found  in  a 
cave  where  it  must  have  lain  for  ages,  and  upon  which  one's 
imagination  might  pleasantly  dwell  for  hours. — Then,  here  are 
deputations  from  China-dom,  in  the  shape  of  Mandarins,  ladies 
of  quality,  servants,  priests,  &c.,  with  their  chalky  complexions, 
huckleberry  eyes  and  shaven  polls.  Here,  also,  is  a  Chinese 
criminal,  packed  into  a  barrel,  with  a  hole  in  the  lid,  from  which 


B  A  R  N  U  II '  S      MUSEUM. 


his  head  protrudes,  and  two  at  the  sides,  from  whence  his  help 
less  paws  depend.  Poor  Min  Yung,  you  ought  to  reflect  on 
the  error  of  your  ways,  though,  I  confess,  you  Ve  not  much 
chance  to  room-mate. 

Here  are  snakes,  insects,  and  reptiles  of  every  description, 
corked  down  and  pinned  up,  as  all  such  gentry  should  be, — 
most  of  them,  I  perceive,  labeled  in  the  masculine  gender !  Then 
there 's  a  "  bear,"  the  thought  of  whose  hug  makes  me  utter  an 
involuntary  pater  nosier,  and  cling  closer  to  the  arm  of  my 
guide.  I  tell  you  what,  old  Bruin,  as  I  hope  to  travel,  I  trust 
you  Ve  left  none  of  your  cubs  behind. 

— Here  is  a  group  of  Suliote  chiefs,  and  in  their  midst  Lord 
Byron,  with  his  shirt  upside  down ;  and  here  is  the  veritable 
carriage  that  little  Victoria  used  to  ride  in,  before  the  crown  of 
royalty  fretted  her  fair,  girlish  temples.  Poor  little  embryo 
queen !  How  many  times  since,  do  you  suppose,  she  has  longed 
to  step  out  of  those  bcjeweled  robes,  drop  the  burdens  state 
imposes,  and  throw  her  weary  limbs,  with  a  child's  careless 
abandon,  on  those  silken  cushions,  free  to  laugh  or  cry,  to  sing 
or  sigh. 

—  Then,  here's  a  collection  of  stuffed  birds,  whose  rainbow 
plumage  has  darted  through  clustering  foliage,  fostered  in  othei 
latitudes  than  ours.  Nearly  every  species  of  beings  that  crawl, 
or  fly,  or  walk,  or  swim,  is  here  represented.  And  what  hide 
ous  monsters  some  of  them  are !  A  "  pretty  kettle  of  fish," 
some  of  the  representatives  of  the  finny  tribe  would  make  !  I 
once  thought  I  would  like  to  be  buried  in  the  ocean,  but  I  dis 
carded  that  idea  before  I  had  been  in  thfc  museum  an  hour.  I 


376  BARNUM'S    MUSEUM. 

should  n't  want  such  a  "  scaly  set "  of  creatures  swimming  in 
the  same  pond  with  me. 

— I  had  nearly  forgotten  to  mention  the  "Happy  Family." 
Here  are  animals  and  birds  which  are  the  natural  prey  of  each 
other,  living  together  in  such  pleasant  harmony  as  would  make 
a  quarrelsome  person  blush  to  look  upon.  A  sleek  rat,  proba 
bly  overcome  by  the  oppressive  weather,  was  gently  dozing  — 
a  cat's  neck  supporting  his  sleepy  head  in  a  most  pillow-ly  man 
ner.  Mutual  vows  of  friendship  had  evidently  been  exchanged 
and  rat-ified  by  these  natural  enemies.  I  have  not  time  to  men 
tion  in  detail  the  many  striking  instances  of  fraternization  among 
creatures  which  have  been  considered  each  other's  irreconcilable 
foes.  Suffice  it  to  say  that  Barnum  and  Noah  are  the  only  men 
on  record  who  have  brought  about  such  a  state  of  harmonic 
antagonisms,  and  that  Barnum  is  the  only  man  who  has  ever 
made  money  by  the  operation. 

— Heigho  !  time  fails  us  to  explore  all  the  natural  wonders 
gathered  here,  from  all  climes,  and  lands,  and  seas,  by  the  en 
terprise  of'  perhaps  the  only  man  who  could  have  compassed 
it.  We  turn  away,  leaving  the  greater  portion  unexamined, 
with  an  indistinct  remembrance  of  what  we  have  seen,  but  with 
a  most  distinct  impression  that  the  "  getting  up  "  of  Creation 
was  no  ordinary  affair,  and  wondering  how  it  could  ever  have 
been  done  in  six  days. 


A   FERN    REVERIE. 

DEAR  me,  I  must  go  shopping.  Shopping  is  a  nuisance : 
clerks  are  impertinent :  feminity  is  victimized.  Miserable  day, 
too  :  mud  plastered  an  inch  thick  on  the  side  walk.  Well,  if 
we  drop  our  skirts,  gentlemen  cry  "  Ugh  ! "  and  if  we  lift  them 
from  the  mud,  they  level  their  eye-glasses  at  our  ankles.  The 
true  definition  of  a  gentleman  (not  found  in  incomplete  Web 
ster)  is — a  biped,  who,  of  a  muddy  day,  is  perfectly  oblivious 
>f  anything  but  the  shop  signs. 

Vive  la  France  !  Ingenious  Parisians,  send  us  over  your 
clever  invention  —  a  chain  suspended  from  the  girdle,  at  the 
end  of  which  is  a  gold  hand  to  clasp  up  the  superfluous  length 
of  our  promenading  robes ;  thus  releasing  our  human  digits, 
and  leaving  them  at  liberty  to  wrestle  with  rude  Boreas  for  the 
possession  of  the  detestable  little  sham  bonnets,  which  the  mil 
liners  persist  in  hanging  on  the  backs  of  our  necks. 

Well,  here  we  are  at  Call  &  Ketchum's  dry-goods  store. 
Now  comes  the  tug  of  war  :  let  Job's  mantle  fall  on  my  femi 
nine  shoulders. 

«  Have  you  blue  silk  1 " 

Yardstick,  entirely  ignorant  of  colors,  after  fifteen  minutes  of 
snail-like  research,  hands  me  down  a  silk  that  is  as  green  as 
himself. 


378  A     FERN     REVERIE. 

Oh !  away  with  these  stupid  masculine  clerks,  and  giv&  as 
women,  who  know  by  intuition  what  we  want,  to  the  immense 
saving  of  our  lungs  and  leather. 

Here 's  Mr.  Timothy  Tape's  establishment. 

"  Have  you  lace  collars,  (in  points,)  Mr.  Tape  1 " 

Mr.  Tape  looks  beneficent,  and  shows  me  some  rounded  col 
lars.  I  repeat  my  request  in  the  most  pointed  manner  for 
pointed  collars.  Mr.  Tape  replies,  with  a  patronizing  grin  : 

"  Points  is  going  out,  Ma'am." 

«  So  am  I." 

Dear  me,  how  tired  my  feet  are !  nevertheless,  I  must  have 
some  merino.  So  I  open  the  door  of  Mr.  Henry  Humbug's 
dry-goods  store,  which  is  about  half  a  mile  in  length,  and  in 
quire  for  the  desired  article.  Young  Yardstick  directs  me  to 
the  counter,  at  the  extreme  end  of  the  store.  I  commence  my 
travels  thitherward  through  a  file  of  gaping  clerks,  and  arrive 
there  just  ten  minutes  before  two,  by  my  repeater ;  when  I  am 
told  "  they  are  quite  out  of  merinos  ;  but  won't  Lyonnese  cloth 
do  just  as  well  ]  "  pulling  down  a  pile  of  the  same.  I  rush  out 
in  a  high  state  of  frenzy,  and,  taking  refuge  in  the  next-door 
neighbor's,  inquire  for  some  stockings.  Whereupon  the  clerk 
inquires  (of  the  wrong  customer,)  "  What  price  I  wish  to  pay1?" 
Of  course,  I  am  not  so  verdant  as  to  be  caught  in  that  trap  ; 
and,  teetotally  disgusted  with  the  entire  institution  of  shopping, 
I  drag  my  weary  limbs  into  Taylor's  new  saloon,  to  rest. 

Bless  me  !  what  a  display  of  gilding,  and  girls,  and  ginger 
bread  !  what  a  heap  of  mirrors !  There's  more  than  one  FAN 
NY  FERN  in  the  world.  I  found  that  out  since  I  came  in. 


A     FERN      REVEK1K.  379 

"  What  will  you  be  pleased  to  have  ? "  J-u-1-i-u-s  C-se-s-a-r ! 
look  at  that  white-aproned  waiter  pulling  out  his  snuff-box  and 
taking  a  pinch  of  snuff  right  over  that  bowl  of  white  sugar,  that 
will  be  handed  me  in  five  minutes  to  sweeten  my  tea !  And 
there 's  another  combing  his  hair  with  a  pocket-comb,  over  that 
dish  of  oysters. 

"  What  will  I  have  1 "  Starve  me,  if  I  '11  have  anything^till 
I  can  find  a  cleaner  place  than  this  to  eat  in. 

Shade  of  old  Paul  Pry  Boston !  what  do  I  hear  ?  Two  — - 
(well  I  declare,  I  am  not  sure  whether  they  are  ladies  or  wo 
men  ;  I  don't  understand  these  New  York  feminities.  At  any 
rate,  they  wear  bonnets,  and  are  telling  the  waiter  to  bring 
them  "  a  bottle  of  Maraschino  de  Zara,  some  sponge-cake,  and 
some  brandy  drops  ! "  See  them  sip  the  cordial  in  their  glasses, 
with  the  gusto  of  an  old  toper.  See  their  eyes  sparkle  and 
their  cheeks  flush,  and  just  hear  their  emancipated  little  tongues 
go.  Wonder  if  their  husbands  know  that  they — but  of  course 
they  don't.  However,  it  is  six  of  one  and  half  a  dozen  of  the 
other.  They  are  probably  turning  down  sherry  cobblers,  and 
eating  oysters,  at  Florence's ;  and  their  poor  hungry  children 
(while  their  parents  are  dainty-izing)  are  coming  home  hungry 
from  school,  to  eat  a  fragmentary  dinner,  picked  up  at  home 
by  a  lazy  set  of  servants. 

Ileigho  !  Ladies  sipping  wine  in  a  public  saloon !  Pilgrim 
rock  !  hide  yourself  under-ground  !  Well,  it  is  very  shocking 
the  number  of  married  women  who  pass  their  time  ruining 
their  health  in  these  saloons,  devouring  Parisian  confectionary, 


380  A      FERN     REVERIE. 

and  tainting  their  children's  blood  with  an  appetite  for  strong 
drink.  Oh,  what  a  mockery  of  a  home  must  theirs  be ! 
Heaven  pity  the  children  reared  there,  left  to  the  chance  train 
ing  of  vicious  hirelings. 


APOLLO    HYACINTH. 

"  THERE  is  no  better  test  of  moral  excellence,  than  the  keenness  of  one's  sense,  and 
vhe  depth  of  one's  love,  of  all  that  is  beautiful."  —  Dcnwhue. 

I  DO  N'T  endorse  that  sentiment.  I  am  acquainted  with  Apollo 
Hyacinth.  I  have  read  his  prose,  and  I  have  read  his  poetry ; 
and  I  have  cried  over  both,  till  my  heart  was  as  soft  as  my 
head,  and  my  eyes  were  as  red  as  a  rabbit's.  I  have  listened 
to  him  in  public,  when  he  was,  by  turns,  witty,  sparkling,  sa 
tirical,  pathetic,  till  I  could  have  added  a  codicil  to  my  will, 
and  left  him  all  my  worldly  possessions ;  and  possibly  you 
have  done  the  same.  He  has,  perhaps,  grasped  you  cordially 
by  the  hand,  and,  with  a  beaming  smile,  urged  you,  in  his  mu 
sical  voice,  to  "  call  on  him  and  Mrs.  Hyacinth ; "  and  you 
have  called  :  but,  did  you  ever  find  him  "  in  1 "  You  have  in 
vited  him  to  visit  you,  and  have  received  a  "gratified  accept 
ance,"  in  his  elegant  chirography  ;  but,  did  he  ever  come  ?  He 
has  borrowed  money  of  you,  in  the  most  elegant  manner  possi 
ble  ;  and,  as  he  deposited  it  in  his  beautiful  purse,  he  has  as 
sured  you,  in  the  choicest  and  most  happily  chosen  language, 
that  he  "  should  never  forget  your  kindness ;  "  but,  did  he  ever 
pay? 

Should  you  die  to-morrow,  Apollo  would  write  a  poetical 


382  APOLLO      HYACINTH. 

obituary  notice  of  you,  which  would  raise  the  price  of  pocket- 
handkerchiefs  ;  but  should  your  widow  call  on  him  in  the 
course  of  a  month,  to  solicit  his  patronage  to  open  a  school,  she 
would  be  told  "  he  was  out  of  town,"  and  that  it  was  "  quite 
uncertain  when  he  would  return." 

Apollo  has  a  large  circle  of  relatives  ;  but  his  "  keenness  of 
perception,  and  deep  love,  of  the  beautiful"  are  so  great,  that 
none  of  them  exactly  meet  his  views.  His  "  moral  excellence," 
however,  does  not  prevent  his  making  the  most  of  them.  He 
has  a  way  of  dodging  them  adroitly,  when  they  call  for  a  re 
ciprocation,  either  in  a  business  or  a  social  way  ;  or,  if,  at  any 
time,  there  is  a  necessity  for  inviting  them  to  his  house,  he  does 
it  when  he  is  at  his  country  residence,  where  their  greenness 
will  not  be  out  of  place. 

Apollo  never  says  an  uncivil  thing  —  never  ;  he  prides  him 
self  on  that,  as  well  as  on  his  perfect  knowledge  of  human  na 
ture  ;  therefore,  his  sins  are  all  sins  of  omission.  His  tastes  are 
very  exquisite,  and  his  nature  peculiarly  sensitive ;  consequent 
ly,  he  cannot  bear  trouble.  He  will  tell  you,  in  his  elegant 
way,  that  trouble  "  annoys"  him,  that  it  "bores"  him ;  in  short, 
that  it  unfits  him  for  life  —  for  business  ;  so,  should  you  hear 
that  a  friend  or  relative  of  his,  even  a  brother  or  a  sister,  was 
in  distress,  or  persecuted  in  any  manner,  you  could  not  do 
Apollo  a  greater  injury  (in  his  estimation)  than  to  inform  him 
of  the  fact.  It  would  so  grate  upon  his  sensitive  spirit,  —  it 
would  so  "  annoy "  him ;  whereas,  did  he  not  hear  of  it  until 
the  friend,  or  brother,  or  sister,  were  relieved  or  buried,  he 
could  manage  the  matter  with  his  usual  urbanity  and  without 


APOLLO      HYACINTH.       .  383 

the  slightest  draught  upon  his  exquisitely  sensitive  nature,  by 
simply  writing  a  pathetic  and  elegant  note,  expressing  the  keen 
est  regret  at  not  having  known  "  all  about  it"  in  time  to  have 
"  flown  to  the  assistance  of  his  dear" &c. 

Apollo  prefers  friends  who  can  stand  grief  and  annoyance,  as 
a  rhinoceros  can  stand  flies —  friends  who  can  bear  their  own 
troubles  and  all  his  —  friends  who  will  stand  between  him  and 
everything  disagreeable  in  life,  and  never  ask  anything  in  re 
turn.  To  such  friends  he  clings  with  the  most  touching  tena 
city —  as  long  as  he  can  use  them  ;  but  let  their  good  name  be 
assailed,  let  misfortune  once  overtake  them,  and  his  "  moral 
excellence"  compels  him,  at  once,  to  ignore  their  existence, 
until  they  have  been  extricated  from  all  their  troubles,  and  it 
has  become  perfectly  safe  and  advantageous  for  him  to  renew 
the  acquaintance. 

Apollo  is  keenly  alive  to  the  advantages  of  social  position, 
(not  having  always  enjoyed  them ;)  and  so,  his  Litany  reads 
after  this  wise :  From  all  questionable,  unfashionable,  unpre 
sentable,  and  vulgar  persons,  Good  Lord,  deliver  us  ! 


SPOILED   LITTLE   BOY. 

"  Boo-hoo !  —  I  've  eaten  so — m-much  bee-eef  and  t-turkey,  that  I  can't  eat  any 
p-p-plum  p-p-pudding!" 

MISERABLE  little  Pitcher !  Take  your  fists  out  of  your 
eyes,  and  know  that  thousands  of  grown-up  pinafore  graduates, 
are  in  the  same  Slough  of  Despond  with  your  epicurean  Lilli 
putian-ship.  Having  washed  the  platter  clean  of  every  crumb 
of  "  common  fixins,"  they  are  left  with  cloyed,  but  tantalizing 
desires,  for  the  spectacle  of  some  mocking  "  plum  pudding." 

"  Can't  eat  your  pudding  !  " 

Why,  you  precious,  graceless  young  glutton !  you  have  the 
start  of  me,  by  many  an  ache-r.  I  expect  to  furnish  an  appe 
tite  for  every  "  plum  pudding  "  the  fates  are  kind  enough  to 
cook  for  me,  from  this  time  till  Teba  Napoleon  writes  my 
epitaph. 

Infatuated  little  Pitcher !  come  sit  on  my  knee,  and  take  a 
little  advice.  Don't  you  know  you  should  only  take  a  nibble 
out  of  each  dish,  and  be  parsimonious  at  that ;  always  leaving 
off,  be  the  morsel  ever  so  dainty,  before  your  little  jacket  but 
tons  begin  to  tighten ;  while  from  some  of  the  dishes,  you 
should  not  even  lift  the  cover  ;  taking  aunt  Fanny's  word  for 
it,  that  their  spicy  and  stimulating  contents  will  only  give  you 


SPOILED     LITTLE    BOY.  385 

a  pain  under  your  apron.  Bless  your  little  soul,  life's  "  bill  of 
fare  "  can  be  spun  out  as  ingeniously  as  a  cobweb,  if  you  only 
understand  it ;  and  then  you  can  sit  in  the  corner,  in  good  di 
gestive  order,  and  catch  your  flies  !  But  if  you  once  get  a  sur 
feit  of  a  dainty,  it  takes  the  form  of  a  pill  to  you,  ever  after, 
unless  the  knowing  cuisinier  disguise  it  under  some  novel  pro 
cess  of  sugaring ;  and  sadder  still,  if  you  exhaust  yourself  in 
the  gratification  of  gross  appetites,  you  will  be  bereft  of  your 
faculties  for  enjoying  the  pure  and  heavenly  delights  which 
"  Our  Father"  has  provided  as  a  dessert  for  his  children. 

25b 


A   "BROWN    STUDY"  — SUGGESTED    BY 
BROWN  VAILS. 

"  "Why  will  ladies  wear  those  ugly  brown  vails,  •which  look  like  the  burnt  edge  of 
a  buckwheat  cake?    We  vote  for  green  ones." — Exchange. 

MR.  CRITIC  :  Why  don't  you  hit  upon  something  objec 
tionable  ?  Such  as  the  passion  which  stout  ladies  have  for 
wearing  immense  plaids,  and  whole  stories  of  flounces  !  Such 
as  thin,  bolster-like  looking  females  wearing  narrow  stripes ! 
Such  as  brunettes,  gliding  round  like  ghosts,  in  pale  blue  !  Such 
as  blondes  blowing  out  like  dandelions  in  bright  yellow  !  Such 
as  short  ladies  swathing  up  their  little  fat  necks  in  volumin 
ous  folds  of  shawls,  and  shingle  women,  rejoicing  in  strips  of 
mantles ! 

Then  the  gentlemen  ! 

Your  stout  man  is  sure  to  get  into  a  frock  coat,  with  baggy 
trowsers ;  your  May -pole,  into  a  long-waisted  body-coat,  and 
"  continuations  "  unnecessarily  compact ;  your  dark  man  looks 
like  an  "  east  wind  "  daguerreotyped,  in  a  light  blue  neck-tie  ; 
while  your  pink-and- white  man  looks  as  though  he  wanted  a 
pitcher  of  water  in  his  face,  in  a  salmon-colored  or  a  black  one. 

Now  allow  me  to  suggest.     Your  thin  man  should  always 


A  "BROWN   STUDY."  387 

close  the  thorax  button  of  his  coat,  and  the  last  two  at  his 
waistband,  leaving  the  intermediate  open,  to  give  what  he  needs 
— more  breadth  of  chest.  Your  stout  man,  who  has  almost 
always  a  nice  arm  and  hand,  should  have  his  coat  sleeve  a.  per 
fect  Jit  from  the  elbow  to  the  wrist,  buttoning  there  tightly — 
allowing  a  nice  strip  of  a  white  linen  wristband  below  it. 

I  understand  the  architecture  of  a  coat  to  a  charm  ;  know  as 
quick  as  a  flash  whether  't  is  all  right,  the  minute  I  clap  ray 
eye  on  it.  As  to  vests,  I  call  myself  a  connoisseur.  "Stocks  " 
are  only  fit  for  Wall  Street !  Get  yourself  some  nice  silk  neck 
ties,  and  ask  your  wife,  or  somebody  who  knows  something, 
to  longitudinize  them  to  your  jugular.  Throw  your  colored, 
embroidered,  and  ruffled  shirt-bosorns  overboard ;  leave  your 
cane  and  cigar  at  home ;  wear  a  pair  of  neat,  dark  gloves  ;  sport 
an  immaculate  pocket-handkerchief  and  dicky  —  don't  say 
naughty  words  —  give  us  ladies  the  inside  of  the  walk — speak 
of  every  woman  as  you  would  wish  your  mother  or  your  sister 
spoken  of,  and  you  '11  do ! 


INCIDENT    AT 'THE    FIVE    POINTS 
HOUSE  OF  INDUSTRY. 

To  be  able  to  appreciate  Mr.  Pease's  toils,  and  sacrifices, 
and  self-denying  labors  at  the  Five  Points  House  of  Indus 
try,  one  must  visit  the  locality : — one  must  wind  through 
those  dirty  streets  and  alleys,  and  see  the  wrecks  of  hu 
manity  that  meet  him  at  every  step ; —  he  must  see  children 
so  dirty  and  squalid  that  they  scarcely  resemble  human  beings, 
playing  in  filthy  gutters,  and  using  language  that  would  curdle 
his  blood  to  hear  from  childhood's  lips ;  —  he  should  see  men, 
"  made  in  God's  own  image,"  brutalised  beyond  his  power  to 
imagine  ;  —  he  should  see  women  (girls  of  not  more  than  twen 
ty  years)  reeling  about  the  pavements  in  a  state  of  beastly  in 
toxication,  without  a  trace  of  feminity  in  their  vicious  faces;  — 
he  should  pass  the  rum  shops,  where  men  and  women  are  quar 
reling  and  fighting  and  swearing,  while  childhood  listens  and 
learns  !  —  he  should  pass  the  second-hand  clothes  cellars,  where 
hard-featured  Jewish  dealers  swing  out  faded,  refuse  garments, 
(pawned  by  starving  virtue  for  bread,)  to  sell  to  the  needy, 
half-naked  emigrant  for  his  last  penny  ; — he  should  see  decayed 
fruit  and  vegetables  which  the  most  ravenous  swine  might  well 


FIVE    POINTS    HOUSE    OF   INDUSTRY.  389 

root  twice  over  before  devouring,  purchased  as  daily  food  by 
these  poor  creatures;  —  he  should  see  gentlemen  (?)  threading 
these  streets,  not  to  make  all  this  misery  less,  God  knows,  but  to 
sever  the  last  thread  of  hope  to  which  many  a  tempted  one  is 
despairingly  clinging. 

One  must  see  all  this,  before  he  can  form  a  just  idea  of  the 
magnitude  and  importance  of  the  work  that  M r.  Pease  has  sin 
gle-handed  and  nobly  undertaken  ;  remembering  that  men  of 
wealth  and  influence  have  their  own  reasons  for  using  that 
wealth  and  influence  to  perpetuate  this  modern  Sodom. 

One  should  spend  an  hour  in  Mr.  Pease's  house,  to  see  the 
constant  drafts  upon  his  time  and  strength,  in  the  shape  of  calls 
and  messages,  and  especially  the  applications  for  relief  that  his 
slender  purse  alas  !  is  often  not  able  to  answer ;  —  he  should 
see  his  unwearied  patience  and  activity,  admire  the  kind,  sym 
pathetic  heart — unaffected  by  the  toil  or  the  frowns  of  tempo 
rizing  theorists — ever  warm,  ever  pitiful,  giving  not  only  "  the 
crumbs  from  his  table,"  but  often  his  own  meals  to  the 
hungry  — his  own  wardrobe  to  the  naked  ;  —  he  should  see 
this,  and  go  away  ashamed  to  have  lived  so  long  and  done  so 
little  to  help  the  maimed,  and  sick,  and  lame,  to  Bethesda's 
Pool. 

I  will  relate  an  incident  which  occurred,  some  tune  since,  at 
the  House  of  Industry,  and  which  serves  as  a  fair  sample  of 
daily  occurrences  there. 

One  morning  an  aged  lady,  of  respectable  appearance,  called 
at  the  Mission  House  and  enquired  for  Mr.  Pease.  She  was 
told  that  he  was  engaged,  and  asked  if  some  one  else  would  not 


390  FIVE    POINTS    HOUSE    OF    INDUSTRY. 

do  as  well.  She  said,  respectfully,  "No  ;  my  business  is  with 
him  ;  I  will  wait,  if  you  please,  till  he  can  see  me.'' 

Mr.  Pease  immediately  came  in,  when  the  old  lady  com 
menced  her  story : 

"  I  came,  sir,"  said  she,  "  in  behalf  of  a  poor,  unfortunate 
woman  and  three  little  children.  She  is  living  now  "  —  and 
the  tears  dropped  over  her  wrinkled  face  —  "  in  a  bad  place  in 
Willet-street,  in  a  basement.  There  are  rum  shops  all  around 
it,  and  many  drunken  people  about  the  neighborhood.  She 
has  made  out  to  pay  the  rent,  but  has  had  no  food  for  the  poor 
little  children,  who  have  subsisted  on  what  they  could  manage 
to  beg  in  the  day  time.  The  landlord  promised,  when  she 
hired  the  basement,  to  put  a  lock  on  the  door,  anu  make  it 
comfortable,  so  that  '  the  Croton '  need  not  run  in ;  but  he 
got  his  rent  and  then  broke  his  promise,  and  they  have  not  seen 
him  since." 

"Is  the  woman  respectable?"  enquired  Mr.  Pease. 

"  Yes — no — not  exactly,"  said  the  poor  old  lady,  violently 
agitated.  "She  was  well  brought  up.  She  has  a  good  heart, 
sir,  but  a  bad  head,  and  then  trouble  has  discouraged  her. 
Poor  Mary  —  yes  sir,  it  must  have  been  the  trouble  —  for  I 
know  her  heart  is  good,  sir.  I  " —  tears  choked  the  old  lady's 
utterance.  Eecovering  herself,  she  continued  : 

"  She  had  a  kind  husband  once.  He  was  the  father  of  her  two 
little  girls  :  six  years  ago  he  died,  and  —  the  poor  thing  —  oh, 
sir,  you  don't  know  how  dear  she  is  to  me!"  and  burying  her 
aged  face  in  her  hands,  she  sobbed  aloud. 

Mr.  Pease's  kind  heart  interpreted  the  old  lady's  emotion, 


FIVE    POINTS    HOUSE    OF    INDUSTRY.  391 

without  the  pain  of  an  explanation.  In  the  weeping  woman  be 
fore  him  he  saw  the  mother  of  the  lost  one. 

Yes,  t^he  was  "Mary's"  mother.  Poverty  could  not  chill 
her  love ;  t  hame  and  the  world's  scorn  had  only  filled  her 
with  a  God-like  pity. 

After  a  brief  pause,  she  brushed  away  her  tears  and  went  on : 

"  Yes,  sir  ;  Mary  was  a  good  child  to  me  once  •  she  respect 
ed  religion  and  religious  people,  and  used  to  love  to  go  to 
church,  but  lately,  sir,  God  knows  she  has  almost  broke  my 
heart.  Last  spring  I  took  her  home,  and  the  three  dear  chil 
dren  ;  but  she  would  not  listen  to  me,  and  left  without  telling 
me  where  she  was  going.  I  heard  that  there  wa.°  a  poor 
woman  living  in  a  basement  in  Willet  street,  with  three  chil 
dren,  and  my  heart  told  me  that  that  was  my  poor,  lost  Mary, 
and  there  I  found  her.  But,  oh,  sir  —  oh,  sir" — and  she  sob 
bed  as  if  her  heart  were  breaking — "  such  a  place  !  My  Mary, 
that  I  used  to  cradle  in  these  arms  to  sleep,  that  lisped  her  lit 
tle  evening  prayer  at  my  knee  —  my  Mary,  drunk  in  that  ter 
rible  place ! " 

She  was  getting  so  agitated  that  Mr.  Pease,  wishing  to  turn 
the  current  of  her  thoughts,  asked  her  if  she  herself  was  a 

member  of  any  church.  She  said  yes,  of  the  street 

K;intist  Church.  She  said  she  was  a  widow,  aud  had  had  one 
child  beside  Mary  —  a  son.  And  her  face  lighted  up  as  she 
said: 

"  Oh  sir,  he  was  such  a  fine  lad.  He  did  all  he  could  to 
make  me  happy ;  but  he  thought,  that  if  he  went  to  California 
he  could  make  monev,  and  when  he  left  he  said  '  Cheer  up,  dear 


602  FIVE    POINTS    HOUSE    OF    INDUSTRY. 

mother ;  I  '11  come  back  and  give  my  money  all  to  you,  and 
you  shall  never  work  any  more.' " 

"  I  can  see  him  now,  sir,  as  he  stood  there,  with  his  eye  kin 
dling.  Poor  lad  !  poor  lad !  He  came  back,  but  it  was  only 
to  die.  His  last  words  were,  '  God  will  care  for  you,  mother — 
I  know  it  —  when  I  'm  gone  to  Heaven.'  Oh  !  if  I  could  have 
seen  my  poor  girl  die  as  he  did,  before  she  became  so  bad. 
Oh,  sir,  won't  you  take  her  here  ?  —  won't  you  try  to  make  her 
good  ? —  can't  you  make  her  good,  sir  1  I  can't  give  Mary  up. 
Nobody  cares  for  Mary  now  but  me.  Won't  you  try,  sir  ?  " 

Mr.  Pease  promised  that  he  would  do  all  he  could,  and  sent 
a  person  out  with  the  old  lady,  to  visit  "  Mary,"  and  obtain 
particulars  :  he  soon  returned  and  corroborated  all  the  old  la 
dy's  statements.  Mr.  Pease  then  took  a  friend  and  started  to 
see  what  could  be  done. 

In  Willet  street  is  a  rickety  old  wooden  building,  filled  to 
overflowing  with  the  very  refuse  of  humanity.  The  basement 
is  lighted  with  two  small  windows  half  under  ground  ;  and  in 
this  wretched  hole  lived  Mary  and  her  children.  As  Mr.  Pease 
descended  the  steps  into  the  room,  he  heard  some  one  say, 
"  Here  he  comes,  grandmother !  he 's  come  —  he 's  come !  " 

The  door  was  opened.  On  a  pile  of  rags  in  the  comer  lay 
Mary,  "  my  Mary,"  as  the  old  lady  tearfully  called  her. 

God  of  mercy !  what  a  wreck  of  beautiful  womanhood ! 
Her  large  blue  eyes  glared  with  maniac  wildness,  under  the  in 
fluence  of  intoxication.  Long  waves  of  auburn  hair  fell,  in  tan 
gled  masses,  over  a  form  wasted,  yet  beautiful  in  its  graceful 
outlines. 


FIVE    POINTS    HOUSE    OF    INDUSTRY.  393 

Poor,  lost  Mary ! 

"  Such  a  place  !  "  as  her  mother  had,  weeping,  said.  Not  a 
table,  or  chair,  or  bedstead,  or  article  of  furniture  in  it,  of  any 
description.  On  the  mantle-piece  stood  a  beer-bottle  with  a 
half  burnt  candle  in  its  nose.  A  few  broken,  dirty  dishes  stood 
upon  the  shelf,  and  a  quantity  of  filthy  rags  lay  scattered 
round  the  floor. 

The  grandmother  was  holding  by  the  hand  a  sweet  child  of 
eight  years,  with  large,  bright  eyes,  and  auburn  hair  (like  poor 
Mary's)  falling  about  her  neck.  An  older  girl  of  twelve,  with 
a  sweet,  Madonna  face,  that  seemed  to  light  up  even  that 
wretched  place  with  a  beam  of  Heaven,  stood  near,  bearing  in 
her  arms  a  babe  of  sixteen  months,  which  was  not  so  large  as 
one  of  eight  months  should  have  been.  Its  little  hands  looked 
like  bird's  claws,  and  its  little  bones  seemed  almost  piercing 
the  skin. 

The  old  lady  went  up  to  her  daughter,  saying,  "  Mary,  dear, 
this  is  the  gentleman  who  is  willing  to  take  you  to  his  house,  if 
you  will  try  to  be  good." 

"  Get  out  of  the  room,  you  old  hypocrite,"  snarled  the  in 
toxicated  woman,  "  or  I  '11 (and  she  clutched  a  hatchet 

beside  her)  —  I  '11  show  you !  You  are  the  worst  old  woman 
I  ever  knew,  except  the  one  you  brought  in  here  the  other  day, 
and  she  is  a  fiend  outright.  Talk  to  me  about  being  good!  — 
ha  —  ha" — and  she  laughed  an  idiot  laugh. 

"  Mother,"  said  the  eldest  child,  sweetly  laying  her  little  hand 
upon  her  arm, — "  dear  mother,  do  n't,  please  do  n't  hurt  grand- 


894  FIVE    POINTS     HOUSE     OF   INDUSTRY. 

mother.  She  is  good  and  kind  to  us  ;  she  only  wants  to  get 
you  out  of  this  bad  place,  where  you  will  be  treated  kindly." 

"  Yes,  dear  mother,  chimed  in  the  younger  sister,  bending 
her  little  curly  head  over  her,  "  mother,  you  said  once  you 
would  go.  Do  n't  keep  us  here  any  longer,  mother.  We  are 
cold  and  hungry.  Please  get  up  and  take  us  away  ;  we  are 
afraid  to  stay  here,  mother,  dear." 

"  Yes,  Mary,"  said  the  old  lady,  handing  her  down  a  faded, 
ragged  gown,  "  here  is  your  dress  ;  put  it  on,  wont  you  !  " 

Mary  raised  herself  on  the  pile  of  rags  on  which  she  was  ly 
ing,  and  pushing  the  eldest  girl  across  the  room,  screamed  out, 
"  Get  away,  you  impudent  little  thing !  you  are  just  like  your 
old  grandmother.  I  tell  you  all"  said  she,  raising  herself  on 
one  elbow,  and  tossing  back  her  auburn  hair  from  her  broad, 
white  forehead,  "  I  tell  you  all,  I  never  will  go  from  here,  never  ! 
I  love  this  place.  So  many  fine  people  come  here,  and  we  have 
such  good  times.  There  is  a  gentleman  who  takes  care  of  me. 
He  brought  me  some  candles,  last  night,  and  he  says  that  I 
shan't  want  for  anything,  if  I  will  only  get  rid  of  these  trouble 
some  children — my  husband's  children."  And  she  hid  her 
face  in  her  hands  and  laughed  convulsively. 

"  You  may  have  them"  she  continued,  " just  as  soon  as  you 
like  —  baby  and  all !  but  I  never  will  go  from  this  place.  I 
love  it.  A  great  many  fine  people  come  here  to  see  me.r' 

The  poor  old  lady  wrung  her  hands  and  wept,  while  the  chil 
dren  clung  round  their  grandmother,  with  half-averted  faces, 
trembling  and  silent. 

Mr.  Pease,  said  to  her,  "  Mary,  yon  may  either  go  with  me, 


FIVE   POINTS    HOUSE    OF   INDUSTRY.  395 

or  I'll  send  for  an  officer  and  have  you  carried  to  the  station- 
house.  Which  will  you  do  ]  " 

Mary  cursed  and  raved,  but  finally  put  on  the  dress  the  old 
lady  handed  her,  and  consented  to  go  Avith  them.  A  carriage 
was  soon  procured,  and  Mary  helped  inside  —  Mr.  Pease  lift 
ing  in  the  baby  and  the  two  little  girls,  and  away  they  started 
for  the  Five  Points  House  of  Industry. 

"  Oh,  mother !  "  exclaimed  the  younger  of  the  girls,  "  how 
very  pleasant  it  is  to  ride  in  this  nice  carriage,  and  to  get  away 
from  that  dirty  place  ;  we  shall  be  so  happy  now,  mother ;  and 
Edith  and  the  baby  too  :  see,  he  is  laughing  :  he  likes  to  ride. 
You  will  love  sister  Edith  and  baby,  and  me,  now,  wont  you, 
dear  mother  1  and  you  wont  frighten  us  with  the  hatchet  any 
more,  or  hurt  dear  grandmother,  will  you  1 " 

Arriving  at  Mr.  Pease's  house,  the  delight  of  the  little  crea 
tures  was  unbounded.  They  caught  hold  of  their  mother's  fa 
ded  dress,  saying,  "  Did  n't  we  tell  you,  mother,  that  you  would 
have  a  pleasant  home  here  1  Only  see  that  nice  garden !  you 
did  n't  have  a  garden  in  AVillet  Street,  mother  !  v 

Reader,  would  you  know  that  mother's  after  history  ? 

Another  "  Mary  "  hath  "  bathed  the  Saviour's  feet  "  with  her 
tears,  and  wiped  them  with  the  hairs  of  her  head.  Her  name 
is  no  longer  written  Mary  Magdalena.  In  the  virtuous  home 
of  her  aged  mother,  she  sits  clothed  in  her  right  mind,  "  and 
her  children  rise  up  and  call  her  bkssed" 


NANCY    PRY'S    SOLILOQUY. 

I  WONDER  if  that  is  the  bride,  over  at  that  window?  Poor 
thing,  how  I  pity  her !  Every  thing  in  her  house  so  bran  new 
and  fresh  and  uncomfortable.  Furniture  smelling  like  a  ma 
hogany  coffin  ;  every  thing  set  up  spick  and  span  in  its  place ; 

t 
not  a  picture  awry  ;  not  a  chair  out  of  its  orbit ;  not  a  finger 

mark  on  the  window  panes ;  not  a  thread  on  the  carpet ;  not  a 
curtain  fold  disarranged ;  china  and  porcelain  set  up  in  alpha 
betical  order  in  the  pantry  ;  bureau  drawers  fit  for  a  Quaker  j 
no  stockings,  to  mend ;  no  strings  or  buttons  missing ;  no  old 
rag-bags  to  hunt  over ;  no  dresses  to  re-flounce,  or  re-tuck,  or 
re-fashionize ;  not  even  a  hook  or  eye  absent.  Sauce  pans,  pots, 
and  kettles,  fresh  from  the  "  furnishing  house ;  "  servants  fresh ; 
house  as  still  as  a  cat-cornered  mouse.  Nothing  stirring,  nothing 
to  do.  Land  of  Canaan  !  I  should  think  it  would  be  a  relief  to 
her  to  hear  the  braying  and  roaring  in  Driesbach's  Menagerie. 

Well,  there  's  one  consolation ;  in  all  human  probabilitv,  it  is 
a  state  of  things  that  won't  last  long. 


FOR    LITTLE   CHILDREN. 

"I  love  God  and  every  little  child." — Richtcr. 

I  WONDER  if  I  have  any  little  pinafore  friends  among  the 
readers  of  Fern  Leaves  ?  any  little  Nellys,  or  Katys,  or  Billys, 
or  Johnnys,  \vho  ever  think  of  Fanny  ?  Do  you  know  that  I 
like  children  much  better  than  grown-up  people  1  I  should  so 
like  to  have  a  whole  lap  full  of  your  bright  eyes,  and  rosy 
cheeks,  and  dimpled  shoulders,  to  kiss.  I  should  like  to  have 
a  good  romp  with  you,  this  very  minute.  I  don't  always  keep 
this  old  pen  of  mine  scratching.  If  a  bright  cloud  comes  sailing 
past  my  window,  I  throw  down  my  pen,  toss  up  the  casement, 
and  drink  in  the  air,  like  a  gipsey.  I  feel  just  as  you  do, 
when  you  are  pent  up  in  school,  some  bright  summer  day, 
when  the  winds  are  at  play,  and  the  flowers  lie  languidly  droop 
ing  under  the  blue,  arching  sky ; — when  the  little  butterfly 
poises  his  bright  wings  on  the  rose,  too  full  of  joy  even  to  sip 
its  sweets ; — when  the  birds  sing,  because  they  can't  help  it,  and 
the  merry  little  swallow  skims  the  ground,  dips  his  bright  wing 
in  the  lake,  circles  over  head,  and  then  flies,  twittering,  back  to 
Ms  cunning  little  brown  nest,  under  the  eaves.  On  such  a 
day,  /should  like  to  be  your  school-mistress.  I'd  throw  open 
the  old  school-room  door,  and  let  you  all  out  under  the  trees. 
You  should  count  the  blades  of  grass  for  a  sum.  in  addition ; 


80S  F  O  K    LITTLE    CHILDREN. 

you  should  take  an  apple  from  a  tree,  to  learn  subtraction; 
you  should  give  me  kisses,  to  learn  multiplication.  You  shouldn't 
go  home  to  dinner.  No:  we'd  all  take  our  dinner-baskets  and 
go  into  the  woods  ;  we  'd  hunt  for  violets ;  we'd  lie  on  the  moss 
under  the  trees,  and  look  up  at  the  bits  of  blue  sky,  through 
the  leafy  branches  ;  we'd  hush  our  breath  when  the  little  chip 
munk  peeped  out  of  his  hole,  and  watch  him  slily  snatch  the 
ripe  nut  for  his  winter's  store.  And  we'd  look  for  the  shy  rab 
bit  ;  and  the  little  spotted  toad,  with  its  blinking  eyes ;  and  the 
gliding  snake,  which  creeps  out  to  sun  itself  on  the  old  gray 
rock.  We'd  play  hide  and  seek,  in  the  hollow  trunks  of  old 
trees;  we'd  turn  away  from  the  gaudy  flowers,  flaunting  their 
showy  beauty  in  our  faces,  and  search,  under  the  glossy  leaves 
at  our  feet,  for  the  pale-eyed  blossoms  which  nestle  there  as 
lovingly  as  a  timid  little  fledgling  under  the  mother-bird's  wing; 
we'd  go  to  the  lake,  and  see  the  sober,  staid  old  cows  stand 
cooling  their  legs  in  the  water,  and  admiring  themselves  in  the 
broad,  sheeted  mirror  beneath ;  we  'd  toss  little  pebbles  in  the 
lake,  and  see  the  circles  they  made,  widen  and  widen  toward 
the  distant  shore  —  like  careless  words,  dropped  and  forgot- 
ten,  but  reaching  to  the  far-off  shore  of  eternity. 

And  then  you  should  nestle  'round  me,  telling  all  your  lit 
tle  griefs ;  for  well  I  know  that  childhood  has  its  griefs,  which 
are  all  the  keener  because  great,  wise,  grown-up  people  have 
often  neither  time  nor  patience,  amid  the  bustling  whirl  of  life, 
to  stop  and  listen  to  them.  I  know  what  it  is  for  a  timid  little 
child,  who  has  never  been  away  from  its  mother's  apron  string, 
to  be  walked,  some  morning,  into  a  great  big  school-room,  fiili 


FOR    LITTLE    CHILDREN.  399 

of  strange  faces; — to  see  a  little  urchin  laugh,  and  feel  a  choking 
lump  come  in  your  little  throat,  for  fear  he  was  laughing  at  you ; 
—  to  stand  up,  with  trembling  legs,  in  the  middle  of  the  floor, 
and  be  told  to  "  find  big  A,"  when  your  eyes  were  so  full  of 
tears  that  you  could  n't  see  anything  ; — to  keep  looking  at  the 
ferule  on  the  desk,  and  wondering  if  it  would  ever  come  down 
on  your  hand  ;  —  to  have  some  mischievous  little  scholar  break 
your  nice  long  slate-pencil  in  two,  to  plague  you,  or  steal  your 
bit  of  gingerbread,  out  of  your  satchel,  and  eat  it  up,  or  trip 
you  down  on  purpose,  and  feel  how  little  the  hard-hearted  young 
sinners  cared  when  you  sobbed  out,  "I  '11  tell  my  mother." 

I  know  what  it  is,  when  you  have  lain  every  night  since  you 
were  born,  with  your  hand  clasped  in  your  mother's,  and  your 
cheek  cuddled  up  to  hers,  to  see  a  new  baby  come  and  take 
your  place,  without  even  asking  your  leave ;  —  to  see  papa,  and 
grandpa,  and  grandma,  and  uncle,  and  aunt,  and  cousins,  and 
all  the  neighbors,  so  glad  to  see  it,  when  your  heart  was  almost 
broke  about  it.  I  know  what  it  is  to  have  a  great  fat  nurse 
(whom  even  mamma  hei'self  had  to  mind)  lead  you,  strug 
gling,  out  of  the  room,  and  tell  Sally  to  see  that  you  did  n't 
come  into  your  own  mamma's  room  again  all  that  day.  I 
know  what  it  is  to  have  that  fat  old  nurse  sit  in  mamma's  place 
at  table,  and  cut  up  your  potato  and  meat  all  wrong ;  —  to 
have  her  put  squash  on  your  plate,  when  you  hate  squash  ;  — 
to  have  her  forget  (?)  to  give  you  a  piece  of  pie,  and  eat  two 
pieces  herself;  —  to  have  Sally  cross,  and  Betty  cross,  and 
everybody  telling  you  to  "  get  out  of  the  way  ;  " —  to  have 
your  doll's  leg  get  loose,  and  nobody  there  to  hitch  it  on  for 


400  FOR    LITTLE    CHILDREN. 

you ;  —  and  then,  when  it  came  night,  to  be  put  away  in  a 
chamber,  all  alone  by  yourself  to  sleep,  and  have  Sally  tell 
you  that  "  if  you  wasn't  good  an  old  black  man  would  come 
and  carry  you  off;" — and  then  to  cuddle  down  under  the  sheet, 
till  you  were  half  stifled,  and  tremble  every  time  the  wind 
blew,  as  if  you  had  an  ague  fit.  Yes,  and  when,  at  last,  mamma 
came  down  stairs,  I  know  how  long  it  took  for  you  to  like  that 
new  baby ; — how  every  time  you  wanted  to  sit  in  mamma's  lap, 
he  'd  be  sure  to  have  the  stomach-ache,  or  to  want  his  break 
fast  ;  how  he  was  always  wanting  something,  so  that  mamma 
could  n't  tell  you  pretty  stories,  or  build  little  blocks  of  houses 
for  you,  or  make  you  reins  to  play  horse  with  ;  or  do  any  of 
those  nice  little  things,  that  she  used  to  be  always  doing  for 
you. 

To  be  sure,  my  little  darlings,  I  know  all  about  it.  I  have 
cried  tears  enough  to  float  a  steamship,  about  all  these  provo 
king  things ;  and  now  whenever  I  see  a  little  child  cry,  I  never 
feel  like  laughing  at  him  :  for  I  know  that  often  his  little  heart 
is  just  ready  to  break,  for  somebody  to  pet  him.  So  I  always 
say  a  kind  word,  or  give  him  a  pat  on  the  head,  or  a  kiss ;  for 
I  know  that  though  the  little  insect  has  but  one  grain  to  carry, 
he  often  ?'  .ggers  under  it :  and  I  have  seen  the  time  when  a 
kind  word,  or  a  'beaming  smile,  would  have  been  worth  more 
to  me,  than  all  the  broad  lands  of  merrie  England. 


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